Rekindled Humanity
by Liz1986
Summary: Nearly seventy years wandering one of the harshest cities in the world takes its toll, especially when you're the Prince; the ruler of all kindred inhabiting the city... based on VTMB
1. Chapter 1

**Rekindled Humanity**

**Summary: **_Nearly seventy years wandering one of the harshest cities in the world takes its toll, especially when you're the Prince; the ruler of all kindred inhabiting the city. Rosalynn knows all too well the pains of governing the unruly nightwalkers – or at least trying too. For thirty years she has existed as the Prince, and for thirty years she found herself raging a never-ending battle to retain power and maintain order. The reckless Anarchs and brutish Sabbat threaten the Masquerade, whilst the demonic Kuei-Jin subtly slips under the radar to plot how to eliminate their western brethrens' rule over the city. _

_However, when news of the fall of the important vampire-inhabited city of Los Angeles to Anarch rule which threatens the Camarilla hold on California reaches her ears, Rosalynn finds herself on a journey to discover who she really is… and rediscover what it was she actually lost, in signing her existence over to the Camarilla. In travelling west, she'll discover much more of her past than she ever expected… leading to a rekindling of her lost, human soul._

_The time has commenced, setting up one of the most epic showdowns between kingship rule and socialist freedom… with the most personal story entwined in history, forcing a Prince and a rebel to confront the same torturous past…_

_What will happen when she discovers that the only one she truly loved in life has now become her single greatest enemy in death?_

**Disclaimer: I do not own or created any of the characters or recognisable plotlines from Vampire: The Masquerade Bloodlines, nor do I claim any affiliation to the creators. **

**Note: I started this story several years ago, but discontinued it when I ran out of inspiration. I recently rediscovered it and decided to continue, so I'm posting it back up. The story continues on after the conclusion of the same, and is going to delve in the past of several main characters. **

**CHAPTER ONE**

A crisp breeze nuzzled her neck as she gazed around the empty parking lot. It sure as hell smelled a lot better then those damned sewers, but even so – that wasn't saying much. Two piercing blue orbs cast a mean glare around the lot, from behind askew strands of deep red hair. It was dead quiet. That is, except for the constant droning and wailing of police and ambulance sirens in the distance, but that wasn't anything new. In fact, such distant sounds were commonplace nowadays, following the waves of so-called 'gang-related' violence that had gripped the city in recent years. At least, that's what law enforcement had termed it. In truth, they had no idea of the more sinister nature behind the bloodshed. Some even pegged it on Satanic, or occult practices following the revelation of some disturbing evidence that came in the form of blood-drained corpses left to rot in the street.

Rosalynn. That is simply what she was known as to her fellow kindred. No last name; no identifying written or legal documentation of who she was and the nature of her past, and that's the way she enjoyed it. Keeping someone from knowing your past was a sure-fire way to keep that person at a distance. If they don't know anything about you, then they cannot possibly know you, right? It made survival in this hostile world all the more bearable with no strings attached. No more of that. She was going to be no one's puppet. Always keeping her cards close to her vest, she kept herself under the cloak of an aura; one of mystery that kept her friends _and _enemies at a firm distance.

Standing stoically over the open sewer entrance, nonchalantly adjusting her black gloves, the Ventrue Rosalynn's calm expression did not reveal the depth of her anger that was boiling through her veins like liquid fire. She had long mastered the unsettling skill of hiding any thoughts, feelings, or emotions that threatened to dispel her reputation amongst her kindred as the ultimate cold, badass bitch of the New York kindred.

Her thick red mane of hair cascaded down to the small of her back, curling loosely with locks of it dancing in the wind behind her, framing her ghostly pale, heart-shaped face. Her slender frame was cloaked in dark blue jeans, a long-sleeved, v-neck black top and knee-length leather jacket. Overall, there was nothing about her other than her deathly discoloured flesh that stood her out from the usually colourful New York kine, anyway.

Rosalynn's lips parted, an almost like a seductive dance her tongue darted out of her mouth, into the thick, musty New York City air. She gagged on the disgusting taste and erupted into a violent coughing fit. Motor oil, decomposing garbage, blood, rotting corpses, and other unclean material carelessly discarded by mostly kine. Kindred were always far more careful in their steps.

"Ugh… foul little rodents, the kine of this city may as well be," Rosalynn muttered, though no one else was around. She was alone.

She let out a wistful sigh, and swept her flowing hair behind her ears. The night was still young and her energy levels replenished, sequestering her inner beast to the depths of her corrupted soul for yet another night. Not that it took much trouble finding suitable prey in this city, with nearly 10 million tasty morsels to choose from. However, been the target of a city-wide assassination plot forced her into the trenches of the sewers, where all the fledgling and less powerful kindred, as well as the Nosferatu clan used to make their travels wherever they needed to go, at least in New York, had forced her to make a quick escape from her haven in a nearby hotel where she had dwelt for several years now.

Her youthful beauty was encapsulated in her delicate features; her wide blue eyes and petite nose, and full red lips contrasted her paleness, enhancing a dark beauty that many women envied and many men desired – both kine and kindred alike. Behind the innocent façade, however, lay a deep-seeded danger that had been nurtured through the decades which she faced without age or fear of death. After all, the dead cannot die twice, right?

Rosalynn glanced down at herself, giving herself a quick once-over inspection. She had emerged from the sewer relatively unscathed, except for the bottom her jeans and shoes soaking wet.

"Goddamn it," she muttered, shaking out her legs. "Fucking sewers - made for those Nosferatu vermin."

She had barely managed to escape the initial onslaught of about fifty of those Sabbat assholes who had launched a brutal assault on a nearby vampire-controlled apartment block, long since abandoned by kine, in attempts to find her. It was another in an increasing number of brushes with Final Death. Well, being the Prince of New York City had its downfalls – but it had taken her a hell of a long time to climb to be the pinnacle of the Camarilla of New York, so she sure as hell wasn't about to give it up without a damn good fight. In 1978 she ascended to the top, to assume her rightful position after having single-handedly led the Camarilla charge to wiping out both the Kuei-Jin _and_ Anarch movements that had converged on her territory – not to mention the Sabbat problem that was gripping the city – _her _city.

As she stood in solitude in the parking lot, Rosalynn couldn't hide a satisfied smirk that slowly appeared on her lips when she thought back to her moment of declared victory, after having been the one to decapitate the leader of the Anarch's, the Brujah Jordan Malovski, in an epic battle that raged for hours all around Central Park and ended in her taking a fire axe to his neck. To date, he had been her most formidable opponent, and since his time the Anarchs and the Kuei-Jin have failed to re-establish themselves as any real threat, though on numerous occasions both factions tried to raise their own 'revolutions', and each one was unsuccessful. New York City had been one of the first cities in America to fall into Camarilla hands following the Second World War, and it hadn't changed since. The horrific, bloody battle, in 1978, had solidified Rosalynn's power and dominance along the entire eastern seaboard. The kine were left dumbfounded, and without an explanation until someone labelled it the work of psychopathic serial killer who had since vanished into human legendary, along with such killers as the Zodiac Killer, and Jack the Ripper. It seemed to satisfy human curiosity, in explaining away the increasingly violent 1970's, were vampire activity had been accumulating to almost explosive levels – all of which, by sheer dumb luck, hadn't been picked up by mortals. That was a time when the vampires were more reckless and didn't take as much care in protecting the commonsense rules that governed them and made up the Masquerade. Now, Rosalynn enforced the Masquerade with an iron fist, and unleashed waves of brutal consequences on the kindred who opposed her or the laws that protected them all.

Usually she didn't leave her haven without tight security, since her head was the envied trophy prize of every Anarch, Kuei-Jin, Sabbat, and vampire hunter in the city. But the unexpected attack had quickly separated her from her elite team when she had retreated to her bedroom, and jumping into the sewers had provided her the only means of escape. Needless to say, it was the closest she had come to Final Death since 1978.

Emerging alone from the sewer, she relied upon her extraordinarily potent perception to scan the environment for the detection of a hunter's heartbeat, or the soft whispers of conspirators, or the scent of another vampire's blood. Luckily for her, the coast was clear. Or so she thought.

"Miss Rosalynn?"

Rosalynn screamed and spun around. A figure emerged from the shadows, and upon stepping into the dim street lighting, the she sighed in relief and shot the person a damning glare.

"Goddamn it, Lucas! Don't fucking do that, I'm on edge as it is! It's chaos out there and you're out stalking the shadows like that?"

The handsome kindred offered her an apologetic smile. His shoulder-length black hair was tied in a simple ponytail, allowing the light to fall across his face; his chiselled cheekbones; his deep-set emerald eyes; and his square jaw gave him the perfect image as a seasoned warrior. The deep scar etched into his right cheek attested to the silent tale of many bloody nights fighting the enemies who threatened the stability of the Camarilla and their government of the rest of the kindred.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," The subordinate replied, and bowed his head in humble respect. "But you said to meet you here."

Rosalynn pouted, remembering to the brief exchange she shared with the Tremere Lucas McMahon, her second-in-command who she relied on to help her carry out the daily activities of being leader, as well as issuing commands and enforcing the rules down the ranks. He was her 'enforcer'. Lucas had managed to escape the nearby Camarilla vampire haven and made it to Rosalynn's private haven in time to warn her of the Sabbat's revolt, before she sent him back to help assist as many of the other Camarilla kindred out.

She was glad to see he made it out. Rosalynn relaxed and returned to him a curt nod before reaching out to him, and hooked her arm over his shoulder affectionately. Despite her keenness to keep her distance from all vampires, Lucas was one of the only vampires on the planet she trusted with her entire unlife. As a youthful thirty-five year-old looking vampire, he had been with her since her embrace, although was not her Sire. Since then, Rosalynn sought to make it her personal mission to ensure his safety.

"I'm so glad you made it out, my friend," She replied.

"Not unscathed, I'm telling ya now…" Lucas joked, and gestured to his arm which was bleeding extensively. "But I've suffered worse."

Rosalynn stood back from him and saw the wound, and cringed. "Ouch. We gotta get you cleaned up. Is the emergency haven prepared?"

He nodded. "Yeah… just in time, too. The car's waiting around the corner there. Come on, we can't wait. You need to get out of here; the Sabbat is tearin' up lower Manhattan."

In no position to argue, Rosalynn nodded and allowed herself to be led towards the sidewalk. She knew they wouldn't be left alone for much longer, as in no time they would be discovered – and there was a good chance it may be the Sabbat who gets to them first. Gazing out through empty eyes, she sank back into her own thoughts and wondered how the hell any of this could happen. This was a disaster. How could the Camarilla be taken so off-guard by an attack by the mindless brutes that craved to destroy the foundations of a well-governed society, all in a bid to stop this supposed 'Gehenna' from occurring? Rosalynn knew it was a load of nonsense, and she had spent thirty years proving why it was nonsense.

Lucas escorted her around the corner and into the adjacent street that connected from the parking lot. Not far away, Rosalynn spotted the black Lincoln town car directly ahead of them, that was her primary means of transportation around the city – it even afforded her some travel during dying sunlight, as the windows were so heavily tinted and she always had the privacy screen up to block direct sun contact. Though she wasn't exactly dressed to impress as the Prince of New York City, she was still the primary target for the attack. Now they were off-guarded and vulnerable, something she rarely had been since assuming her position of power – she usually was constantly surrounded by her elite security team that Lucas had all but said had been obliterated. After all, if they were still around, they would've made haste to join Lucas' side in escorting their leader from the grasp of danger.

"We must hurry. Daylight strikes the horizon in thirty-six minutes," Lucas informed her, breaking the silence, with a slightly panicked edge in his tone. "Are you sure you're not injured?"

"I am fine, just a little shaken…" Rosalynn answered, just as they reached the car.

Lucas hurriedly threw open the backseat door and held it open for her. Without stopping, she ducked down and stepped into it, and the door was then slammed behind her. She flopped down in the seat and let out an exhausted sigh, and raked her fingers through her hair.

Ahead of her, she saw the driver's door open and Lucas slipped into the seat. Normally she had another driver, but unfortunate circumstances dictated speed as a necessary part of getting her to safety, and not entrusting his leader's survival to the hands of a lowly weaker vampire, Lucas had insisted transporting her by himself.

Lucas pulled his door shut and revved the engine into life. "We should get there in about fifteen minutes, if traffic is kind to us."

Rosalynn snorted and tried to stifle sarcastic laughter. "Sure, in New York, traffic's _no_ problem," She mocked.

"Trust me, ma'am," Lucas replied, and slowly drove the car out onto the main street. "I'll get you there in time."

"I have no doubt about that, my friend."

They settled into a comfortable silence; Lucas concentrated on the road, and every so often glanced into the rear-view mirror to glimpse at Rosalynn, but noticed that she was concentrating on something else. Rosalynn heaved a deep sigh and rested the side of her head against the window, and stared out at the streets as they went flying by.

"How the hell did it come to this…?" She lamented, capturing her friend's attention.

Lucas glanced into the mirror. "What do you mean?"

Squeezing her eyes shut, Rosalynn pinched the bridge of her nose as though trying to fight off an imagined pain. The full weight of the night's attack was settling in her, now she had time to reflect. Her closest colleagues and most trusted companions – destroyed. She still had close allies who were out of town to meet fellow Camarilla members – mainly the New York City primogen, but they would not be reachable for another few nights… which meant, with her organisation crippled at least temporarily, she'd need to get out of the city until her Camarilla kindred could regroup. Unfortunately, there was no way to do that at the moment with the Sabbat launching all-out warfare across the entire city.

"I mean, how the hell did it get so bad with me that I didn't even pick up on the fucking warning signs that the Sabbat was planning this shit?" She asked him, opening her eyes.

"Miss Rosalynn…"

"I've been a good leader, right? I mean, I give these people the freedom to do as they please and I forgive many transgressions to maintain the peace, and grant every faction – the Camarilla, the Sabbat, and the Anarchs – all the same rights! I don't trample on the freedoms of any of them, and yet they still rebel against some imagined 'doomsday', and blame it on us?" Rosalynn ranted, not understanding why her efforts were so reviled by many of the kindred. "Tell me, Lucas… has anything I've done in the last thirty years made any bit of difference?"

Lucas hesitated in his response. He didn't know how to answer her. To answer in the positive, he knew she would automatically assume he was humouring her. To answer her in the negative would do nothing but send his leader into a downward spiral and possibly enrage her.

"I believe so, ma'am," He cautiously replied, and refocused his attention on the road. "You've done more than you've needed to, to show these ingrates that you are more than capable and genuine to govern them. But they're like spoilt teenagers, rebelling against parental authority. They need to be dealt with as such. Sooner or later, they'll get it."

It was the best he could come up with. Daring to glance at her through the mirror, he noticed her saddened expression hadn't changed. No doubt, she was contemplating her past and consulting her archives of memories, trying to figure out what went wrong.

"You've done everything for them. And may I be as bold as to say… there is no reasoning with the Sabbat. They're animals. They can't reason." He added.

His words did nothing to bring comfort to her. It was bad enough being the most despised, distrusted vampire in the city. What made it worse were the constant attempts on her unlife, even though in her position obviously brought that necessary evil with it. But it was more than that. It gave the appearance that she was falling under the pressure of anarchy, letting the different factions run their own games, and that she lacked control over her own city. Other Princes did not look favourably on her efforts or skills as a result, which could encourage a takeover by an ambitious Prince seeking to expand or move to new territory. It made for a burdensome existence – one plagued by constant fatigue and stress, requiring her to always be on alert. Sometimes Rosalynn couldn't help but wonder whether any of it was worth it, but then she supposed that greatness had its own burden to bear, and price to pay.

Settling against the backrest of her seat, Rosalynn pondered her doubtful thoughts and gazed vacantly out the window. It was a struggle to remember the reason she agreed to fight for the Camarilla to begin with at times – although she would never let herself admit such a vulnerable secret to anyone. Such painful memories should remain hidden, to the betterment of everyone.

Rosalynn sighed wistfully, and closed her eyes once more. All she needed at this point was a decent day's rest.

**Note: Will post up more shortly.**


	2. Chapter 2

**CHAPTER TWO**

**Summary: **Los Angeles has been torn apart by bloody vampiric violence over the last several nights, culminating in the destruction of Prince Sebastian Lacroix. Now all that is left is to pick up the pieces. The Anarchs, broken and nearing exhaustion, are running out of time to capture the city once and for all. The Camarilla is nearly in ruins and left leaderless. The Sabbat have scattered. And the Kuei-Jin are regrouping for another run on the city.

The last thing the Anarchs need right now, is a distracted and heartbroken leader...

* * *

The only sound to fill the room came from the drumming of fingertips against the wooden table. Hardly a word had been spoken since they arrived – broken, bloody, and barely able to walk – back at The Last Round. Nines Rodriguez stared at his hand clasped neatly on the table. He refused to look at his colleagues, although felt the scorches of all three pairs of eyes burning the back of his skull, and was grateful when his colleagues respected his darkening mood, and said nothing. He needed time to digest what the hell happened out there.

_She left? How could she just leave without a word, and without hearing me out_?

Tormented by the same questions running over and over in his mind, melancholy was etched over his face. Sebastian Lacroix was dead, and they had the mysterious newbie vampire, Bella, to thank for that. The petite fledgling had wiped out not only L.A's Camarilla Prince, but also the leader of the universally hated Kuei-Jin, Ming-Xiao, as well as one of the greatest vampire hunters of recent decades, Bach. Following the explosion that dethroned LaCroix in his tower, that everyone felt, Nines and several of his fellow Anarchs ran across town to find her. The ebony-hair, blue-eyed fledgling, though, was not at all receptive to the welcoming party and stormed past them without a word said. Despite Nines' repeated pleas for her to listen and consider joining him, he received a definitive 'fuck you' when she flipped them all off and disappeared down the street – not even giving them a glance.

He had his answer. Bella had flat-out refused the proposition, choosing instead to remain on her own. After all, she had done all the work and survived – why should she ally herself now?

"Yo, Rodriguez… how you doin'…?" Skelter spoke up from the side.

Nines turned his head slightly. On the other side of the room, Skelter leaned casually against the wall by the door. The cold glare he shot at his friend gave Skelter his answer. It was Nines' infamous 'don't-fuck-with-me' look that not only inspired fear, but earned respect amongst his fellow kindred, even from many of the Camarilla.

It was surprising that even Damsel had few words to say. The fiery redhead sat quietly on the bottom step, resting her chin in the palm of her hand and staring at the floor. She also felt the burn of being rejected by the powerful kindred who had done so much for their cause, despite brushing her off so many times.

"This sucks," she dully commented. "Man, if I see that bitch again, I'm gonna-!"

"You're gonna 'what', Damsel?" Nines snapped, finally speaking after being quiet for more than an hour. "Kick her ass? Stake her? She made her choice."

"Yeah, and after everything we did for her…" Damsel trailed off.

"I think you mean the other way around. We could've really used her…" Skelter chimed in.

"Maybe that's her whole goddamn problem," Jack spoke finally for the first time that night since returning from his little trip earlier. "She thinks we all played her – used her."

"Got that right. Who knows, maybe we did expect too much of her…" Nines said, and slumped down in his chair.

"Well she delivered, didn't she? She'll go all flaunting her ego for a few nights but when the shit hits the fan and she's needed an escape, she'll be howlin' for ya help, Nines. I say let the little one walk alone. Then she'll learn…"

"Yeah, and I say we just let her rot in the fucking sunlight next time," Damsel stubbornly agreed with Jack. "Or better yet, feed her to the Sabbat. Hell, they'll be crawlin' all of California lookin' for her ass."

"Who the hell expected that damn Malk to pull all that shit off to begin with? None of us saw it comin'." Skelter said.

_Damn right,_ Nines thought. None of them had expected the fledgling to prove herself to be such an asset to their cause, or that she would wield such power as to be able to fight off the Sabbat, the Camarilla, vampire hunters, _and_ the Kuei-Jin. The fact that she was a Malkavian only made her story all the more unbelievable, if they hadn't been witness to her abilities first hand. Bella's cursed bloodline and incurable insanity gave her more insight and wisdom than any of them held, but it was trying to sort all the bullshit out from the wisdom that proved to be most challenging. Her insight gave her knowledge, and from knowledge came power and strength that assisted her success. She had cemented her own reputation as legend amongst the Los Angeles kin. Having her on their side would've been a huge advantage in taking back the entire city, and eventually – the entire state.

But now those plans were shot to hell. Their most valuable asset had stormed off and basically told them all to leave her alone for good. Still feeling the pain of the violent night and the savage werewolf attack he had survived through, Nines decided it was the perfect excuse to get away from them all. Pushing his chair back, he rose to his feet and stretched out his weary arms in front of him.

"Look, LaCroix's dead; that Ming-Xiao bitch has been taken out… Bella came through for us, but she's decided to go it alone so we should just move on without her. I'm gonna hit the shower and then bed. We'll regroup tonight and figure the next move…" He said, not looking at any of them. "And Skelter, make sure Damsel keeps a damn lid on her militant bullshit."

He headed across the bar room to the front door, eager to leave any company far behind and retreat to quiet solitude. It was lonely, but peaceful – and when you're the admired, beloved 'unofficial' leader of the entire Anarch movement of Los Angeles – you take any moments of peace you can get. Nines opened the door, but paused when he was halfway out and turned around to see all three of his colleagues watching after him.

"I suggest you all get some rest. I doubt you'll be getting much more of it anytime soon. I'm outta here." He advised them.

Not awaiting any response, Nines turned back and trudged out the door. The warm Los Angeles air greeted his cold flesh, sending shivers down his spine. Closing the bar door behind him, he stopped and gazed around the empty street. To one side, under the bridge, a fire in a barrel provided the surrounding homeless folk their only source of constant warmth. They seemed grateful for it; not complaining or hassling the few other pedestrians for anything. Nines stared at them, almost in awe. Though their circumstances were the tragic result of human neglect, they had simple needs and sought out only what they needed; not bogged down by greed and self-indulgence. Nines longed to have that kind of simplicity again. Not that he had much of it when he was actually alive, but times had mirrored that simplicity in many ways. Being a responsible adult in the 1930's, in the height of the Great Depression, meant forsaking many luxuries and even simple pleasures for the basic necessities – food, shelter, clothing, and anything else essential to surviving the trying times. Now, in death, everything was so needlessly complicated.

Nines shook away the distracted thoughts, and tore his gaze away from the street bums. He only had to walk a few steps until he reached the next building, where he and his fellow Anarchs made their home. The Last Round was their hangout and where 'business' was conducted, but for privacy sake and avoidance of sunlight and mortal interference, many of them – including Nines, Damsel, and Skelter – chose the haven next door, of the rundown building that was fairly small but provided what they needed. They had decided to leave the Luckee Star in Hollywood, since they still had business downtown to tend to – namely recapturing downtown Los Angeles and push forward with the Anarch cause. Each had their own room; own bathroom; own private areas to rest. Jack, though, chose to remain on his own in a place he chose not to disclose to anyone. It was understandable, given his status amongst the kindred and his reputation as a loner.

Nines entered the dark building, closing the door behind him and stood at the beginning of the long hall. Several feet down, and to his left was a common room with a couple of sofas and a television, but along the right were several doors to bedrooms. There were at least a dozen that extended down the long corridor, and further down past the common room on the left was the kitchen where copious amounts of blood packs in storage. At least none of the residents would ever go hungry, or at least if at risk of succumbing to their inner beast, they would have some salvation.

Nines let out a tired sigh and ran his hand over his hair. He needed sleep. The sun would be up in a couple of hours, so it wouldn't be long before his colleagues would be returning. He wasn't in the mood to deal with them, and so he retreated to the forth door down on the right – his room. It probably hadn't been his brightest moment, to spend the days locked in the same building with his colleagues since more often than not he preferred being alone. It gave him chance to reflect.

Entering his room, Nines shut the door and paused to attach the chain lock. There was no way he was going to be leaving for anything or anyone – nor was anyone getting in.

He made his way over to the desk situated against the opposing wall, and dropped down onto the chair.

"Fuck…" He cursed, exhausted, and dropped his head into his hands.

The weight of the night's events would not soon lift from his shoulders. With Lacroix out of the way, it was now his responsibility to lead his fellow kindred into war with the other factions – the Camarilla and Kuei-Jin being the main threats, with the Sabbat being a pain in the ass that would soon need sorting out. It was an uphill battle.

Lifting his head from his hands, Nines stared down at the contents on the table. There wasn't much he carried with him, overall. A vampire didn't necessarily require too many personal items, especially ones that forced his concentration to linger in the past. On the desk sat his wallet as well as several folders containing documents of Camarilla activities. The only personal item he carried with him through the decades, lay open in front of him. Though the thought of sleep was tantalising, he couldn't resist indulging his memories, and picked up the wallet. Flipping it open, he checked the main pockets – still a decent wad of cash remained. Something told him he'd need it over the next few nights. But what caught his attention came from one of the wallet's slip pockets.

The hardened rebel leader froze when he saw the top of the item peeking out. For a few seconds, he contemplated taking it out, since he rarely did. But it was usually in these rare moments of solitude that he allowed his cool demeanour and calm nature to fade long enough for him to have a break. With a trembling hand, he reached for the item and brushed a finger across its glossy surface. Was it worth opening old wounds which still bled considerable heartache? There was not much that connected him back to his mortal life, except for this one small token that would give any undead man a reason to keep a firm hold on his humanity. Despite his better judgment, Nines slowly tugged the item free of the pocket and stared down at the picture.

Two beaming faces grinned up at him from the dated photo, which had turned yellow and rough from surviving through decades and had become weary with time – still, the smiles on the two's faces hadn't diminished with age or faded in the many years that had passed. It was his most treasured possession.

Nines hid his sadness behind a stone cold mask; his features not betraying the true turmoil he felt constricting his unbeating heart. Was he supposed to gain or lose strength from this? He wasn't sure. All he was sure of was of the compulsive need to reflect on a time when it wasn't the most desirable circumstances, but there was still a measure of happiness he experienced… something he hadn't for a long time, since loneliness invaded his soul. No one said death would be easier than life, but the eternal loneliness and being forever plagued with memories of happier times was the ultimate damnation.

Nevertheless, Nines found himself unable to look away from the photo - his one source that made him want to hang onto humanity. Holding the image steady in his hands, he stared through empty eyes at the two individuals, both never to know what had become of him and the monster he now as. That was the only solace to be taken from it, since he had been so cruelly torn away from them.

Nines stared longingly at them – the red-haired woman and the brunette child. It was the last photograph he had taken of them, only three days before he had disappeared, never to be seen by them again. He, however, had seen them only once after his embrace – three years nearly to the day after his disappearance, he had crossed the country to Los Angeles so he wouldn't have to exist in the heartache of being so close to his family. He wouldn't risk them discovering him as a nightwalker… a monster. But that plan was nearly destroyed when, one night, he arrived in Hollywood and walked by a nearby restaurant… only to be abruptly halted when he spotted his beloved wife and beautiful daughter sitting at one of the tables. He quickly fled behind the wall of a building to hide himself, but still maintained watch over his family. The instinctive urge to go to them was strong, and powerful to resist – temptation he would've surely given into, had he not been in the company of several of his sire's accomplices who had been instructed to guide his fledgling childe in the wake of his destruction. Nines nearly lost it that night. He was frozen to the wall, unable to walk away as he watched his baby girl celebrate her ninth birthday with her infectious smile growing wider by the second as she tore off the wrapping to her presents, amidst the glowing love of her mother… and, another man. One he didn't recognise. All three were smiling and enjoying each other's company. Nines remembered the scathing rage that coursed through his veins at seeing his wife in the arms of another man, apparently content with her new life, as well as the affectionately respectful gaze his little girl gave this unknown man.

He had always known that the moment of his embrace meant the loss of his family. He'd never be apart of their lives again. But still… seeing his replacement only enraged him, which later turned into severe depression he still existed with several decades later. It was hard to shake away the guilt of leaving your family, already suffering through immeasurable hardships, without explanation or even so much as a simple 'goodbye'. Such was just a part of the hardships of entering this cruel underworld.

As Nines gazed at the picture, he felt his jaw clench when he remembered that night in Los Angeles when he saw his family… and the tightness in his chest he felt, when at the end of the night, when they were leaving the restaurant, he heard his little girl say the words he needed to hear…

"_Mommy, I wish daddy was here…"_

He remembered her voice so well. He refused to let it go. The words rang clearly through his ears as though the child was whispering to him. And he remembered his wife's response. In her tender, lovingly voice she spoke…

"_I know, my baby. I know. I'm sure there's nothing more that he would want than to be here, with you."_

So they hadn't forgotten him. Even the new man had reassured the child with similar words – so he wasn't trying to replace him. At least, that's how it seemed. But it did nothing to quell his aching need to be with them. Nines remembered in his reflection, having to be held down by his fellow kindred as he watched them walk away. After that, he never saw them again, and had to reconcile himself to the one good thing coming from all of it – his wife and daughter were taken care of. They were happy. They had moved on. That's what counted, in the end. They would never have to be witness to the horrors of the unlife their husband and father had succumbed to. The cold reality was – they were better off without him.

Sighing wistfully, Nines turned the picture over and read the note scrawled on the back, recognising his own handwriting…

_**July 4**__**th**__**, 1933**_

_**Central Park, New York City, New York**_

_**Baby Angel's sixth birthday**_

Baby Angel was his nickname for his only child. She loved it. She adored angels, and every Christmas insisted on dressing up as one. Her obsession with angels was a reflection of her pure innocence that shone from her pale blue eyes. Nines remembered always calling to her with the nickname, and she'd come running to him happily. He couldn't recall a time when she wasn't happy, even when faced with having not many toys or being able to do the things richer children could do. She was always happy.

When a sudden pang of desire hit his chest, Nines cursed softly and shoved the photo back in his wallet. That was enough guilt and heartache for one day. Throwing the wallet down on the desk, he got to his feet and eyed the soft bed next to him. It was too inviting to resist. _Screw the shower,_ he thought and flopped down on the bed. He fell back until he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling. Yawning, he allowed his eyes to shut as he let the onset of sleep take over… as two names hijacked his thoughts.

_Emily._

And her mother – _Rosalynn_

**Note: More coming soon :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**CHAPTER THREE**

**Summary: **Rosalynn learns of trouble in Los Angeles, and fears the potential rise of the Anarch movement. Drastic action must be taken.

* * *

She sipped from the goblet slowly, allowing the metallic substance to pass her lips and settle on her tongue, savouring its warm and inviting taste of mortal life. Rosalynn stared into the half-empty goblet of blood, pondering her next move. Being intelligent and quick-witted, she knew she would come up with something. Perhaps it was fatigue weighing down her mind to an infuriating slow pace. Just as Lucas had promised, he got her to the secret haven within fifteen minutes, in the Sheridan Hotel. Unfortunately, her initial instincts proved to be correct – her elite security force, caught unawares by the shock attack by the Sabbat, had been obliterated. It was just her and Lucas left. She would have to meet with the leaders of the clans under the Camarilla, the primogen, and consult with them of what to do. Too vulnerable to remain in the city alone, she needed to get out. But for this day, she and Lucas would rest and recover, and await the arrival of intelligence reports from one of her closest allies and Tremere Primogen, Alyssandra Tudor, the Russian-born 300-year-old vampire, though looked barely older than twenty-one. Still, she was older and had more worldly experienced than any other Tremere clan member in New York City, and often brought back wondrous tales of her journeys and war stories.

Rosalynn lay on her side, sprawled on the plush sofa in front of the plasma screen television that was mounted upon the wall in front of her. The windows had been covered with thick curtains, which successfully blocked the sunlight from penetrating her room, leaving her free to wander about the penthouse suite of her own will. Upon arrival at the hotel, she immediately made haste towards the bathroom where she stripped and changed into a long, sleeveless white silk nightgown that cascaded her slim body to barely touch the floor. The light material felt good against her; no longer did she feel the dirt, nor cringe at the stench of sewer water that stained her street clothes that now lay crumbled on the bathroom mat. She had momentarily contemplated stepping into the shower for a while, but decided against it when she realised she was just too damn tired, and still recovering from the Sabbat ambush.

She stared at the television with keen interest, watching the newscaster report on the latest developments – most specifically, on the huge explosion that had just occurred in a Los Angeles tower. Details were sketchy, at best.

Rosalynn shook her head at the screen, almost in disbelief that the kine were still so blinded to the obvious. Without even hearing the details, she knew a vampire attack when she saw one. The telltale sign was the reporting of condition of bodies that had been slain with weapons that were definitely not easy for any mortal to acquire, including high-grade weaponry that, if anything, usually is reserved for military personnel. Call it instinctual, but she just knew that this had to be a vampire attack… just who was behind it, she didn't know. This was most definitely a situation to be monitored, carefully. If the Anarchs were behind it, then that could spell disaster for re-establishing Camarilla control over the western states. If California became an Anarch Free State, there would be trouble – trouble that could be felt three-thousand miles away, here in New York City. With her eyes glued to the screen, she didn't bother to look up when she heard the connecting door to the next room open.

"Lucas?" she spoke up.

"Yes, ma'am?" Lucas gruffly replied, approaching her side.

"Come and take a look at this…" Rosalynn ordered.

Lucas stopped and sat down on the arm rest of the sofa, and turned his attention to the screen. It clicked almost instantly.

"The Los Angeles explosion," He commented. "I've just heard…"

He glanced down at his leader, and saw the worry etched all over her face, as well as deep concentration. "Miss Rosalynn?"

"Check out those flames. They're tainted. Something tells me this isn't mortal work…" Rosalynn commented, and finally tore her gaze away from the images. She looked up at him. "What do you think?"

"I haven't been able to get a hold of any of our contacts in Los Angeles yet," Lucas admitted. "I'm guessing they're laying low until the heat from kine law enforcement settles. But I'm with you on this… it looks suspect, at best."

"Remind me again, who is the Los Angeles Prince?"

"Umm… if memory serves me correctly, Prince Sebastian Lacroix."

At the mention of that 200-year-old French vampire's name, Rosalynn let out an annoyed groan and rolled her eyes. She wasn't the only one to have that reaction. It was commonly known amongst the Camarilla all over the country that Sebastian Lacroix was more of a liability than anything to their cause of re-establishing the country under Camarilla rule. It was no secret that his ambitions for power far exceed his loyal ties and commitments to the Camarilla, which placed the organisation under threat and made it a vulnerable target. It was also no secret about how he actually came to be the Prince of Los Angeles, an important city for the Camarilla to maintain hold of. Lots of backstabbing, under-the-table dealing, and other assorted acts that could never be proven and thus could not sustain the charge of getting his head on the chopping block. He was one vampire who she wouldn't mind seeing being left to the sun's merciless kiss.

"Oh jeez… that can't be good," Rosalynn replied. "California is vulnerable. If we lose it, I—!"

"I'll get online and get into the Camarilla Intranet; I'll get the scoop," Lucas quickly assured her, not wanting to be sucked into another one of her anti-Lacroix rants that she seemed so fond of.

"Do that. Keep me informed – find out all you can about how it started and the political climate in Los Angeles. Also, do what you can to find out about whose leading the Sabbat, Anarch, and Kuei-Jin movements. And, if at all possible, get in contact with Lacroix, and have him call me immediately."

"Yes, ma'am. I have discovered that the Tremere Chantry Regent for Los Angeles, Maximillian Strauss, resides in downtown Los Angeles, near where the explosion took place. I'll send an urgent request for him to contact us."

"Good work. Let me know, the second you hear anything."

"Yes, ma'am."

Rosalynn watched her loyal companion hurry off back into the room he came from, closing the door behind him. Looking up at the screen, she contemplated the possibility of the Camarilla falling in that state. It wouldn't be _total_ disaster, but it still would not be a good thing for her colleagues in the surrounding states in the west. If the Anarchs got a foothold in the west, then, like a virus, their hold would almost certainly grow.

Resting her faith in Lucas' contacts, especially his vast connections to the Nosferatu clan, she had no doubt he would come through for her. Rosalynn flipped through the rest of the channels, and settled on CNN. No part of it interested her, but at least it was something – kine problems were hardly different to kindred problems; the two worlds operated separately but parallel to one another. Power and money ruled both worlds, and both claimed through violence. Settling in to watch whatever part of the world was getting blown up now, Rosalynn watched through bored eyes. Waiting around for the all-clear to leave the city wasn't much fun. The truth was, Rosalynn held extraordinary power and was an extremely strong fighter so there was a good chance she could take on any Sabbat she came across on her way to leaving the city – but this time was no time for chances to be taken.

Given the extent of her own problems, it was hard to stay up-to-date on the goings-on of her fellow kindred in other states. Other states hardly concerned her at all, except for when it threatened Camarilla control over her territory. How the Los Angeles situation would play out, she didn't know – or even if it would have any bearing on New York, but she wasn't a fool. She knew a serious situation when she saw it.

She exhaled a long, exhausted breath and fell against the backrest, letting the back of her head drop onto the arm rest. Rolling onto her back, she stared up at the ceiling, and her thoughts transported back to her sire. What would he have done?

_**1936 – September 23**__**rd**_

_She dropped the wilted rose to the floor. It was dead, and there was no use trying to revive it. Sitting on the bar countertop, her gloomy expression did not fail to attract the attention of her maker, sitting on the bar stool beside her. She felt his eyes on her, studying her acutely. The bar, owned in part by the man sitting next to her, was frequented by many mortals but tonight thankfully it was nearly empty, except for the kindred bartender who wisely kept his distance at the other end of the bar, busying himself by keeping a watchful eye on the three kine patrons, sitting at a table near the back. The night was young. There was plenty of opportunity to go and do her own thing, but she chose to remain in the comfort of the quiet bar, located as a basement-type structure with steps leading down from the busy main street. Her maker had speculated that it was an abandoned speakeasy from several years earlier._

_The rose had been a gift from her maker, knowing how much she loved them. Such a flower captivated both the essence of humanity and love, whilst also being a symbol for sadness and even respect. The red rose tonight, though, brought her no comfort for her aching heart. If she could cry, right now she'd be a mess. _

_It had only been two months. Two month since her entire world crumbled for the second time in three years, and she was brought, unwillingly, into the dark side that she never knew existed. It had been hard enough to bring comfort to her saddened child's heart at a time that was both good and bad. For three years, little Emily's birthdays had been tainted by the plaguing fears and questions about what happened to her daddy. Every birthday night she prayed he would come home. Rosalynn heard her child's cries… her prayers… her overwhelming need to hear her father call to her again. Now, the memories of her baby's voice were all she had to hold on to, in her emergence into an infinitely more sinister world. _

"_It's not fair…" She whispered, her voice cracking with uncontrollable emotion._

_The watchful man stared at her and saw that his childe was trembling. Sweeping his greyish brown hair from his eyes which watched her from behind thin-wired spectacles, he leaned forward and rested his arms on the bar, clasping his hands in front of him – his gaze never leaving her. _

"_I know the pain lingers, fledgling," He whispered softly, the elegance of his words accentuated further by his lofty Spanish accent. "But it will pass…"  
_

"_After how long, I wonder…" Rosalynn replied, bowing her head. "How long does it take to forget your child? How long does it take to realise the monster that became your companion… and now has become you? Tell me, master… how long does it take?"_

_For that, Marius had no answer. Sitting back, he merely offered her a sympathetic smile. Perhaps it had been too soon to embrace her, given the trauma she had gone through only days following the kidnapping of nine-year-old Emily Rodriguez. The day after arriving home from a spontaneous birthday surprise trip to Los Angeles, Emily had been snatched from her school – neither her, nor her captures were heard from again and weeks after her disappearance with no leads, police declared the child 'missing-presumed-dead'. Officially, Rosalynn had lost both her daughter and husband to mystery. Three years on and there was no word from the only man she had ever really loved, the one she married as a young woman. And now, her baby also had been swallowed into oblivion. Her one link to him, their treasured little girl, may have suffered a similar fate._

_Her heart exploded in her chest the moment she was informed of little Emily's disappearance. In the wake of her husband's disappearance, Rosalynn had been forced into the labour force, working nearly twelve hours or even more into the day during the height of the Great Depression. _

_The events surrounding her embrace were still somewhat of a mystery also to her, though her sire – Marius – a former Spanish soldier who looked in his early thirties, but really was more than two-hundred years of age, over the two months since her embrace, had revealed a little more to her as she began to settle and accept. Rosalynn Rodriguez had been an interesting subject to study, from the first time he laid eyes on her in Los Angeles. From there, he followed her and learned more about her life, coming across some startling revelations that made him realise that she would be of great use to him and the Camarilla cause. Days later he trekked across the country to follow her to New York City. Her daughter's kidnapping provided him the perfect opportunity he needed to convince her that she now belonged with him – after all, what more could her cruel life offer her that her unlife couldn't possibly resolve? Discovering her in a drunken stoop following the loss of her family, Marius easily lured her into an alley from the bar next to it – as cliché as the setting was, it gave him the opportunity to seduce her into a trance and quickly make the embrace. He then took her to his haven in downtown New York. At least, that's what she knew. One could assume that he took advantage of a grief-stricken mortal, but Marius was fixated on her. After learning who she was, he just knew he had to have her as his childe…_

_Sitting in quiet reflection of her limited memories of the night, Rosalynn wished she could cry - because at least then she wouldn't have to sit and stew in her own anguish; she'd be given some form of release. She remembered the vow Marius had promised her when she woke up and finally stopped screaming – that he would help her track down and kill those responsible for the disappearances of both her husband and her daughter. He insisted that their disappearances had not been at mortal hands, but from the murderous intent of certain kindred belonging to warring clans during the thirties. He further elaborated that such acts would eventually see the Camarilla ejected from, and then retake, the city of New York._

_It hadn't taken long for the shock of learning of the truth about vampires to subside. What had impacted her more was the notion that her family had been torn from her, becoming accidental victims of a brutal war between supernatural beings. Drinking blood. Keeping the Masquerade secrets safe. Acquiring amazing strength and the sudden ability to master weapons she never before had laid a finger on in life. It all came so naturally in the days and subsequent weeks following her embrace. The idea of vampires and the intensely bloody existences that they led, and equally horrific and bloody history binding their unlives… none that stunned her, as much as Marcus' latest revealing truth._

_Her fingers twisted nervously together. Placidity replaced tension and sadness in her eyes, and she dragged her gaze from the floor up to her master… and allowed lingering seconds to pass in silence, before contemplating her next question._

"_Master…?"_

Marius turned, wondering what question nervously stood on the tip of her tongue.

"_Yes, childe…?" It pained him greatly to see his fledgling so distraught._

_Taking in the new revelation was tough, even though she knew Marius believed her to be ready for it. In a way, it seemed like a betrayal… like she had been sired under false pretences. But then she remembered that he hadn't made any sort of false promises. Marius never told her the fate of her husband when he sired her, not until now – only telling her that he had fallen victim to kindred acts of horrific violence, and had subsequently disappeared into. Not that he, indeed, had been embraced as well._

_Rosalynn stared sombrely at him, unsure of what to say. The expectance in his eyes told her to continue, but fear of his reaction stayed her tongue for a few more seconds._

"_I… I…" she stammered. _

_Marius leaned forward again, resting his hand on her arm once more. The childe clearly needed more reassurance than he anticipated. He had hoped she was stronger when he revealed to her the nature of her husband's disappearance, but he now realised that he underestimated her still stubborn reluctance to let go of her mortal attachments. After all, it had only been two months. And given the grim nature of her family's disappearance, it was hardly surprising that in death – with immortality on her side – she would be forced into torturous, eternal reflection on what she had lost. Marius cleared his throat._

"_My Rosie," He began slowly, carefully choosing how to respond. "I am most sorry that I couldn't reveal this to you earlier…"_

"_And why couldn't you?" Rosalynn snapped, feeling a new sensation of rage bursting through her veins. Forgetting that she was nervous and shocked by her master's secrecy, her eyes hardened at him. All of a sudden, she felt blindingly angry._

_Sliding off the bar, she turned around to face her master directly. _

"_Why couldn't you, master? Why must I learn of this now? Why couldn't you tell me after you sired me? Or better yet, before the embrace?" _

"_Rosalynn, understand that I couldn't. I was bound by greater responsibilities, namely keeping you safe and not letting you lose yourself to your still strong mortal emotions and attachments. Tonight I had hoped you were finally letting go of them, but I see now that it was a serious miscalculation on my part. Earlier you were not mentally stable enough to hear it. Time is against us now, and so I had to tell you. But have no doubt, childe, that I will not hesitate to stop you by force should you try to do something incredibly… stupid. I vowed to help you track down your family's murderers. I still intend to do so, knowing that those responsible still exist on this earth today…"_

"_And you couldn't tell me that my husband still exists too…?" Rosalynn hissed; her blue eyes raging with a fire of anger. "You couldn't tell me that he too is a vampire?"_

"_No, I couldn't! Believe me, seeing you so heartbroken on those nights we travel together, and not be able to tell you, was no easy task for me! But there are broader implications here, my love…"_

_The moment Marius had revealed to her that her husband was in fact also a creature of the undead, Rosalynn couldn't count the emotions that ran through her body. Shock; disbelief; anger; sadness; confusion… all if it tore her in so many different ways, leading up to this moment of explosion. For the three years she and Emily believed he was dead – well, she believed it although Emily held onto hope through her sheer innocence and lack of knowledge about death. Emily, however, did not come out of death at all. According to Marius, no child could become kindred without serious consequences… and as such, the Camarilla frowned upon siring mortal children, with grave repercussions for those kindred who attempted to do so. He said she had been killed during a battle between the Kuei-Jin and the Anarchs. To prevent the state of her body from possibly revealing vampire existence, the perpetrators had to dispose of her so that she would never be found by mortal eyes._

_Just as quickly as the anger bubbled to the surface, it also receded and Rosalynn calmed. Running her hand over her hair, she slumped down onto the stool beside him._

"_Rosie," Marius continued. "I must also say that this is a reason why I knew you belonged amongst us, the kindred; the Camarilla… so that you could learn the truth and be prepared to fight with us. Fight with us against those who tore away your husband from you and murdered your daughter. And besides… although I said that Mister Rodriguez existed as a vampire… I can assure you now, that he does not."_

_Rosalynn's brows furrowed in confusion, and she shook her head slowly. "What… do you mean?" She feared his answer._

_Marius hesitated, hurriedly thinking of a delicate way to reveal it to her – but there was no easy way to do this._

"_Rosie… your husband met his Final Death about two months ago…" He softly confessed. It was a blatant lie, but she did not need to know that._

_Final Death: the end of the road for kindred who were unlucky enough to be brought to it. Marius turned away from her. It was hard enough trying to help her cope through these incredible few months, but to see her unbeating heart shatter again, it was too much even for him._

_When Rosalynn didn't say anything, he dared to look up at her. Instead of seeing distress, though, he saw nothing. Not even a hint of emotion was evident in her face. Rosalynn had turned towards the bar, staring dully at its bland surface. As time goes on, the woman was becoming more difficult to read as she learned the art of internalising everything around her – a skilful tool to help a vampire avoid vulnerability on any level. _

_Marius touched her arm, but she didn't look at him._

"_I know… that's about the time I sired you. The time your daughter vanished. The coincidences are seemingly piling up, I understand that, Rosie… but I can assure you, there is no coincidence here… I know who brought Nines Rodriguez to his Final Death, and who took your daughter and killed her. Given who he was working for during his time as a vampire, I knew that bringing you into our world was the only way to avenge his death. Your family was caught in the crossfire of a huge battle that's been looming for years, and so your family's killers decided that by using mortals they could further their own agenda – their reasoning being, that the more kindred and innocent mortal deaths to occur under Camarilla rule, would prove to all the other organisations and even to the Camarilla that our endeavours are pointless. But we caught onto their plans before they could execute it, after a defector revealed to us what they were up to and so we reached your family before they did – and embraced your husband."_

_Rosalynn remained silent. But inside, her soul was burning. Rage; fear; confusion… it was all there, again. _

"_But… something went wrong," Marius continued. "Nines was caught two months ago, in downtown Los Angeles… and swiftly executed, for they feared his growing influence over other kindred…"_

"_Who?" Rosalynn whispered, finally finding her voice. She raised her head, and turned her gaze to him… "Marius, who was responsible? Which organisation…?"_

_Marius hesitated. In telling her, it would unleash a fury in her – and after seeing her potential, and the skills she possesses as a vampire, knowing he made the right choice in embracing her into the world of darkness, he realised that should she learn who he would say is responsible for her husband's death, he would be unleashing a force he may not be able to stop._

"_The Anarchs," He concealed the lie under a firm voice filled with conviction. "They feared what he was doing. He was Camarilla through-and-through… and within him was a power none of us could imagined that he'd possess. The Anarchs feared him, and so they destroyed him. He was assisting us in our war against them… and they killed him for it..."_

_Rosalynn was not surprised. She should've been, but she wasn't. From everything Marius had taught her of the Anarchs, in the past two months, the reckless kindred had no problem in blatantly risking the Masquerade by bringing innocent mortals into the mix._

_She felt her muscles tense beneath her skin. Her fingers curled into clenched fists, as she channelled a burning rage that was pulsating faster through her system…_

_Drawing in a deep breath, she knew what she had to do. "The Anarchs… starting from east to west, I shall be there to see them all destroyed. I shall find my family's murderers… and tear from their chests their cold ,from which I shall drink the last lingering essence of their immortality. Revenge is mine to be had."_

**PRESENT DAY – NEW YORK**

Rosalynn remembered her vow all too well. But for some reason, she hadn't been able to fulfil it yet. Taking and keeping New York City from the persistent Anarchs, cunning Kuei-Jin, and moronically brutish Sabbat was a far more difficult task than she had envisioned it to be when she sliced Jordan Malovski's head from his neck thirty years ago.

At that moment, she heard a door swing open and slam violently against the wall, jolting her from her memories. She bolted upright, in time to see Lucas briskly walk into the room, and she immediately saw the clouding storm in his eyes. He was furious.

"Lucas, what is it?" Rosalynn demanded to know, setting her goblet aside and swung her legs over the side of the sofa.

She rose to her feet and moved around the sofa, moving to him.

"Ma'am, we have a situation!" Lucas exclaimed, waving a piece of paper in front of her face.

Rosalynn rolled her eyes, and snatched it from him but didn't bother to look. She simply glared at him, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"What situation demands you running in here like a maniac?" She coldly questioned, narrowing her eyes at him.

"Miss Rosalynn, I'm so sorry… but I must inform of this at once. The Camarilla in Los Angeles has been demolished… not completely down-and-out, but they're in _serious_ trouble!"

Rosalynn's jaw dropped, her eyes practically bulging from their sockets. If he had just said what she believed she had just said, the shit had officially hit the fan. California was the only Anarch hold-out in the west, and it was crucial for the Camarilla to secure it back to squash any chance of the Anarch 'virus' spreading to the other states.

"W… what did you just tell me?" She stammered.

Lucas let out a dejected sigh. "That explosion in downtown L.A… Jesus Christ, Rosalynn… it… it's _Lacroix_!"

"WHAT?" Rosalynn exploded.

"An Anarch-aligned fledgling managed to infiltrate his building and… he's gone. Prince LaCroix met Final Death."

"That little weasel! Goddamn it! I know he was a fucking moron, but jeez… did you say a _fledgling_ did this?"

Lucas nodded sadly. "Indeed. Apparently she was sired only days ago, but aligned herself with the Anarch movement."

Rosalynn shook her head violently, as though to try and rid her mind of the overwhelming information. As much of an asshole that Prince LaCroix indeed was, he still held the senior position of authority in Los Angeles – the leader of the Camarilla movement. With his death, the entire organisation in the city would fall into disarray – a leaderless gathering of a nervous vampires, instead of the well-oiled machine that the Camarilla was.

"I can't believe this, I can't believe this, I can't FUCKING BELIEVE THIS!" She roared, and slammed the wall with a flat hand, causing her subordinate to jump on the spot.

The impact worked to expel some of the furious energy pulsating through her veins, and Rosalynn stopped pacing, and turned to face her friend.

"What else do you know of this… this… _fledgling…_?" She demanded, her nose crinkling in disgust at the mere thought of a youngster vampire causing so much havoc across one of the Camarilla-held cities.

"Not a lot. But I did manage find out her name – courtesy of Therese Voreman in Santa Monica. She gave me a name. The kindred is simply known as Bella… nothing else is detailed about her, other than – get this – she's _Malkavian_!"

Rosalynn blinked. "Are you serious?"

Lucas nodded, and gestured for her to check the piece of paper. Holding it up, Rosalynn read several detailed encounters that Camarilla members had with this fledgling - each independently citing the madness and eerie insightfulness that she brought to each of them. Accounts ranging from beneath the streets of Hollywood in the warrens, to bringing havoc to Santa Monica diners and clubs, and unleashing incredible waves of violence in the heart of downtown Los Angeles where eventually she went to destroy Lacroix were documented on the single sheet of paper, as well as her bringing down the local Kuei-Jin leader, Ming-Xiao and the Sabbat leader Andrei, a Tzimisce. All three were dead.

"Shit…" Rosalynn muttered in disbelief. How could one vampire – a fledgling, no less – take control of Los Angeles? The sheer idea of it was so far-fetched that for all her decades of experience in the world of darkness, it rocked her beliefs to the very core of her undead being. "This is not possible."

"I assure you, madam, these accounts come independent of each other and each swore on their existences to the truth of her. They say she bore a power that is even Lacroix, Andrei and Ming-Xiao underestimated. After all, who could imagine that a fledgling could wield such unbelievable strength…?" Lucas reasoned, carefully taking a step back from Rosalynn, fully aware of her short temper.

"No one could, and maybe that was the source of her strength all along…" Rosalynn answered, still awe-stricken by what she was reading. "Lacroix always had his head shoved too far up his own ass to notice the goings-on of those around him… but to take out Ming-Xiao as well; to cripple two organisations in favour of bringing anarchy to the city of Los Angeles… if this reaches word to the other surrounding western states, this could stir an Anarch uprising of unprecedented magnitude…"

Finally she tore her gaze away from the piece of paper, looking to her friend but only saw the same fear echoed is his eyes, as was in hers.

"Lucas… did you happen to discover _who_ exactly the leader of the L.A. Anarchs is…?"

Lucas shifted nervously where he stood under her hardened gaze. Rosalynn had a nasty habit of being able to punish kindred with her punishing nature – one of violence, sadism, and unbelievable merciless cruelty at times. Such a nature was needed to keeping ruling with an iron fist over such a divided city of vampires, many of whom were seeking to usurp her position at the slightest sign of weakness.

"Unfortunately, ma'am, I have been unable to attain that information as of yet. I shall keep trying though…" He confessed.

"No need to," Rosalynn replied, and stormed past him, shoving the piece of paper to his chest and walked off to the centre of the room. When she whipped around, Lucas saw a renewed sense of determination set across her petite features; her eyes ablaze with anger. "Lucas, arrange for my travels. Find contact with Alyssandra, and have her organisation safe passage for me – and me _alone_ – to Los Angeles. From there I'll consult with the Regent Strauss on how to go about finding this Anarch leader, and twisting his or her arm around until it snaps off and they confess whatever they know about this fledgling."

Her demanding tone was a clear warning for him to not test her patience now, and he had no intention of doing so. Lucas nodded understandingly, but didn't move.

"Uhh, ma'am… d-do you think that trying to leave the city right away is a wise thing at this time…?" He cautiously asked.

Rosalynn narrowed her eyes at him. "Do you want me to repeat myself, Lucas?"

The sharp tone struck fear into him, and Lucas frantically shook his head.

"N-n-no, ma'am," He answered.

"Then do as I ask or I'll be re-painting these walls with your blood!"

Rosalynn watched her subordinate scamper off quickly, eager to be out of her sight. Lucas disappeared into the next room, and the slam of the door behind him told her that he had no intention of re-emerging soon. Rosalynn exhaled slowly, feeling her breath tremble as it passed her lips.

Suddenly left to herself and the slightly unsettling feeling of being alone in the audaciously large lounge room, she made her way back to the comforts of the sofa and dropped down. Her legs gave way under the weakness that had paralysed most of her insides.

Her eyes became animated with uncertainty. Leaning forward, she rested her arms on her knees and buried her face into her hands.

"Goddamn it…" she murmured.

_Why me? Why ME?_

What to do. California had always been a struggle. Sixty years ago, the Camarilla were thrown out by the brutish tactics of the rebellious Anarchs, and from that chaos inevitably ensued. Now the Camarilla had finally restored order to the state, only to have it once again threatened by some punk-leader and his little minion assholes, many of whom were youngsters without a clue about what they were doing. Whoever this leader was, it was clear he had to be taken out along with the fledgling he had to be in cahoots with.

Feeling the stress pounding in her head already, Rosalynn dragged her hands from her face up to her temples and massaged the sides of her head.

"This is not gonna be good…" She quietly mused, and flopped against the backrest, slumping down where she sat.

The fatigue was gradually overwhelming her. Sleep was a smart option, one which her body was becoming increasingly insistent on taking. She needed to embrace the remaining daylight hours for much-needed rest before embarking on what could be her very last journey out of the city.

Rosalynn dragged herself out of the exhausted stupor she had sunken into, and made her way over to the massive four-post bed. The powerful Ventrue peeled back the soft, Egyptian cotton sheets and the blanket and crawled under the covers. Rosalynn's eyes slammed shut as soon as her head touched the pillow. This was the last peaceful slumber she would be afforded for a long time – and she intended to make the most of every second of it.

**Note: Will post a new chapter soon :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**SUMMARY: Nine's demons come back to haunt him, as he and the anarchs learn of the situation in New York… and the missing Prince. We discover a human side to the brutish anarch, and the surprising lengths he'll go to staying within a fingertip's reach of holding on to his humanity. Just how much is he willing to risk?**

**Note: Big thank you to Rednightmare for all her help :) Your advice has helped me a lot.**

* * *

The sun was setting, daylight hours were dwindling into twilight, and soon the city would be cast into another violent night. For Nines Rodriguez, sleep hadn't come easy nor did it linger. Having only managed a few restless hours of slumber, he now lay wide awake in his bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Sometimes it seemed like nothing he did matter, or at least that it paled in comparison to his former life… and once he reflected on it, he'd quickly force the troubling memories from his mind. A self-imposed torture, it was. Locked in an eternal battle against his memories, it made all his efforts to free Los Angeles from the tyrannical Camarilla seem useless. Even if the Anarchs managed freedom, what use would it do? An eternity alone wouldn't change.

The veteran Anarch stifled a yawn and stretched his arms out. If he couldn't sleep, he may as well as get up and do something. Feeling a little hungry, Nines sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed.

"Fuck," he muttered, rubbing his eyes.

Another long night ahead, he knew. Nines rose to his feet and stumbled towards the open door of the bathroom. Before he did anything else he had to rid himself of the nauseating stench of months-old residual cigarette smoke and beer that clouded the relatively small bar. It didn't matter that straight away afterwards he was going back there, but right now he felt like shit – and he was pretty sure he looked like it too.

As soon as he stepped onto the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, Nines quickly stripped off and simultaneously reached for the shower taps. Stepping into the shower, he was immediately greeted with a burst of hot water against his chest, and he let out a relieved gasp at the sensation of the high-pressured water.

Straight away he grabbed the bar of soap from the small shelf next to him, and began lathering his body with the moisturizing soap across the aching sculptured muscles of his arms.

_What the hell are we gonna do…?_

The question plagued him. A simple question with an elusive answer. Nines had thought the answer lay with the mysterious Malkavian, Bella. Now that she was gone, he had to re-think the entire plan for the Anarch movement.

He felt his muscles relax with the warmth of the water caressing his dead flesh. Even as a dead being, he wasn't immune to the simple pleasures that humans enjoyed, including that of a good shower. His eyes held an empty sadness. The same nightmare that kept him from sleep now plagued him awake as haunting memories. Looking back on it, taking a moment to reminisce wasn't the smartest decision he made all day. But he put it down to fatigue as the reason why his normally steely resistance had crumbled so easily to desire.

_**JULY 7 1933 **_

_Sitting on the porch-swing, clutching a small bottle of whiskey between his hands, he gazed around the street that was illuminated by the setting sun. For the given times, they weren't exactly living in the slums of the city, on the street and poverty-stricken. But things weren't looking so good, either. Financially, they were stretched so thin it was hard not to plan for the worst case scenarios. Losing their home was at the top of the list of worst-possible things to happen. So many of their friends and colleagues had faced that, and some had already given in. _

_The house they lived in was a modest, in a nice suburb in New Jersey. The street was normally quiet, and the neighbors pleasant. Up until the stock market crash four years earlier, everything seemed to be really progressing for them. Of course, when the crash occurred things took a drastic turn of deterioration very quickly – making providing for his wife and daughter all the more of a struggle. Being a worker in the construction industry, the Depression hit his family hard, and it was only through the accumulation of savings and wise financial planning on his part that kept them barely afloat. But he hadn't worked in weeks. Work was almost impossible to find these days, and he was nearly at the point of giving up completely. _

_The Great Depression is what newspapers were starting to call times in America right now. Political, social, and economical turmoil gripped the nation, and uncertainty struck fear into the hearts of everyone. Everyone had an opinion of whose fault it was, and Nines was no different. For him, it was clear who the offenders were – the wealthy fat cats at the top of the hierarchal empire industries, and master political manipulators in Washington D.C. None of them suffered from these hard times. Working families and labourers; poverty-dwelling citizens who had to work hour-by-hour to scrimp and save every last dollar that was placed in their pockets. These were the true sufferers, battling to see each day through with food on the table and keep the bills paid. It left a bitter taste in Nines' mouth, and the same could be said for his friends and family._

_The screen door swung open – the telltale creaking of the hinges told him so. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his wife appear at his side. Not wanting her to see him worried, Nines forced a reassuring smile and looked up at her._

_Rosalynn swept locks of her finger-woven red hair from her eyes, and didn't return the smile. Despite Nines stretching out an arm to her, urging her to join him, she didn't move._

"_I saw your face. You are worried," she softly commented._

_Nines' smile disappeared, and he looked away, giving up the façade. _

"_Am I so obvious?" He lifted the bottle to his lips._

_Rosalynn mustered a sympathetic smile, and finally joined him. She sat down beside him and linked her arm with his, squeezing his hand._

"_You were never much of a talented liar," she joked, hoping to ease the tension she felt under his shirt._

_Nines replied with a dejected sigh and continued gazing vacantly ahead, not looking at anything in particular. It was hard to look at her, these days. Not being able to provide for his family was heartbreaking, and his pride had taken a serious beating. Rosalynn never complained, which in a way made it all the more worse. Ever supportive and convinced that soon their fortunes would change she had never questioned his ability to support them. To him, that was painful – that his family still had all the faith in him in the world to keep them safe and secure._

_Rosalynn watched him carefully, and wondered what was going through his mind. She was not oblivious to his self-imposed torment, nor was she blind to the changes in his behaviour of the last several years, as times grew more desperate. The once carefree, high-spirited man she had fallen in love with had gradually morphed into a worrisome, stressed, and withdrawn man who seemed to spend every waking moment fretting over each dollar they had. It was only at this time of day that Nines gave himself a little break to come out onto the front porch and sit, usually with a bottle of whiskey, to contemplate and think on his own. Normally, she would leave him to it and understood that was the time he wanted to be alone, but not today. Something told her that today he needed company._

_Caressing his arm with her free hand, Rosalynn rested her chin on his shoulder._

"_None of this is your fault, you know…" She murmured into his ear. "Many must endure these times in no better conditions than us."_

_Nines didn't react to her, except to take another swing from the bottle. He heard her. And though he wasn't prepared to tell her so, he appreciated it. He knew she was right – they weren't completely down and out yet, but they were certainly heading that way. If he didn't find work soon, their savings would run dry and they really would be facing dire circumstances. _

_He felt the warmth of Rosalynn's breath nuzzle his neck, and it was oddly soothing. At the beckoning of her breath against his skin, he turned and met her eyes._

"_I am fine," He assured her, and then pressed a kiss to her forehead._

_Releasing her hand, he leaned forward and draped his arm across her shoulders, drawing her close. _

"_I hope so," Rosalynn replied. "Emily has started to notice the changes in you. She wonders if she has done something to displease you, and each time I have to reassure her that she has done nothing of the sort. Perhaps it is now time for you to be the one to reassure her."_

_Nines nodded. He understood perfectly well that their daughter was wondering what was going on, and it was too difficult to explain to a six-year-old child just what exactly was plaguing her father. All Emily knew was happiness and being a carefree, idealistic child untainted by the hardships of the world._

"_I am sorry for that," Nines said. "There is no way I would ever want to expose her to our troubles…"_

"_I know that – truly, I do. Emily does not. All she knows is that her father is sad and she does not know why. Comfort your child."_

"_How can I bring her comfort that I don't have even for myself?" Nines replied, somberly. "I can't tell her things are fine if they are not."_

"_You must!" Rosalynn insisted. "For her sake."_

"_She wants the world, and I cannot give it to her!"_

"_You have the best reason there is to believe that things will get better!"_

"_And why is that?"_

_Rosalynn paused hesitantly, and looked away. Good point. Bleak times lay ahead for the country, and there was no light at the end of the tunnel. Sitting up, she gazed around the empty street until the answer came to her. _

"_Because…" she slowly answered, trying to find the words. "Because she needs to believe it. You have to show her that there's reason to believe. She looks to you for that." _

_Nines watched her get up and start towards the front door, and at the last second he reached out and grabbed her wrist, jerking her to a stop. _

"_Wait."_

_He came up to her and tied his arms around her waist. Her petite frame rested well in his arms, and she dropped her head to his chest. His heartbeat was thumping wildly under the thin material of his shirt, and immediately Rosalynn realised that there was something he wasn't telling her._

"_Something else is troubling you…" _

_Nines chuckled bitterly. There was no hiding anything from this woman. "You always can tell."_

"_What is it?"_

_Pulling away to look at her, Nines saw the honesty and concern in her eyes. Nothing could ever get past this woman, no matter how much he tried to conceal a secret. _

"_Listen I, uhh… I have to go into the city tonight," He confessed. The confusion that swept across his wife's face told him he needed to elaborate further. "An old friend of mine from way back is coming into New York, and he says he may be able to help us out. He's a banker of sorts – or at least, he was. All the same, it's been a while since I seen him and I agreed to meet him for a drink to talk it out. I won't be back until late."_

_Rosalynn groaned and wriggled free of the embrace. She turned away from him and padded over to the steps, shaking her head dejectedly. _

"_Rosie…"_

"_Not this again, Nines, PLEASE tell me not this again!" Rosalynn pleaded, not bothering to look at him._

_She had every right to be angry, as far as he was concerned. Part of the changes he had gone through in his struggles to provide for his family, now included the worrying development of heavy drinking patterns. On more than one occasion when he had failed to come home during the nights, Rosalynn had found him in a drunken stupor surrounded by a cloud of cigarette smoke, drinking himself into his own depression along with his friends. It wasn't surprising to him anymore that she didn't trust him when he stated he was going out. Though Nines always kept the drinking outside of the house, and never brought it home for Emily to see, it was still a touchy subject that he knew his wife to be sensitive about._

_Rosalynn bit down on her lower lip in an effort not to cry and crossed her arms. Too many nights she had spent crying over this, and there was no way she was prepared to let Emily see her in such a state._

_Nines wondered whether it was a smart idea to go to her. Rosalynn was a strong-willed woman when she wanted to be, and sometimes she was best left alone. Pushing his reservations aside, he cross the small porch to her and came up along side her. Still, she refused to look at him._

_Nines saw the combination of fear and anger hidden under a veil of subtle annoyance in her eyes. Daring to touch her, he reached out and pressed his hand to her back._

"_I'm sorry," He whispered. "I know it's been—"_

"_You know what?" Rosalynn abruptly interrupted, and shoved his hand away. "It's not even that you drink, Nines. I can handle that. But do you know what I am so scared of? I'm so frightened… that I'll lose you to this Depression just like so many of my friends have. Nina Michaels, do you remember her? Last week her sister's husband killed himself by slashing his wrists with a shard of glass he got from shattering an empty bottle of whiskey in his wife's face! Nina's sister has horrible scars that may never heal!"_

_She trailed off as the emotion washed over her like a furious tsunami. Leaning against the handrail of the steps, she sank down to sit on the top step. Burying her face into her hands, she muffled the sobs she couldn't prevent. _

_Why couldn't things be back to normal? It seemed like everyone she knew was succumbing to the wretched conditions the country had fallen into, and her family wasn't immune from it. __Rosalynn lowered her hands, and looked up._

"_I'm terrified that you'll leave us alone, that you'll never be as you were when I met you. That Emily will find her father so altered, that it will bear its own scars against her. I fear to lose you to these times, and that in ten years I'll have to tell your daughter why it is her father can't walk her down the aisle or why he had to leave her. And I don't want to lie to her, Nines. I refuse to."_

_He knew he hadn't exactly been a model father or husband in recent months. Drinking and depression had become so isolating that he had come to depend on it to hide his fears and worries of what was to come. He hadn't meant to keep Rosalynn at a distance, but that had become a by-product of trying to support his family during times of immeasurable hardship. It made his bitter hatred of the profiteers and rich fat cats even more potent, and his blood boiled with the rage felt by so many left to struggle. But he couldn't bring himself to drag all that hatred home._

_Nines sat down next to her, and this time ignored her initial resistance when he enveloped her with both arms. _

"_I'm sorry," He repeated, suddenly feeling the pang of guilt tightening in his chest. "Rosalynn, I get it. I know I got to get my act together. And you ain't gonna lose me - I'd never leave you two. I'll talk to Emily. I'll set her straight…"_

"_It's not even about that anymore, Nines," Rosalynn replied and sighed. Her resistance to his touch crumbled, and she allowed him to slide a little closer to her. "I just get so scared now for you. You try to hide what is happening out there from me and it doesn't work. Believe me, I know what is happening. I listen to the radio and read the newspaper. I talk with people and I learn more about it each day. All I see is that you become so withdrawn and depressed and what am I supposed to think?"_

_Nines brought his hand up to her and brushed away a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand. _

"_I should've known better," He admitted. "I just don't know what I'm gonna do now."_

"_Do you have to go to that bar tonight?" _

_He nodded. "I want to see if there's anything this man can do. If not, I'll be straight home. I promise."_

_Their marriage had always been a good one, a happy one, with very few major problems until now. But the drastic changes that had unfolded around them, was taking a heavy toll. For a few silent moments he held her, waiting for her to calm down, before continuing._

"_I don't want you to worry anymore. I'll take care of it," he assured her._

_Rosalynn was hardly reassured, but mustered a weak smile. She never doubted his intentions for the family, but it was hard to be encouraged by him after all the broken promises and late night drinking sessions that kept him out to ridiculous hours. _

"_I'm tired of having to lie for the reasons why you're not home to say goodnight to her," she said, running her hand over her hair. "I want you to stop this before you go beyond control."_

_A fair request, if there ever was one. In studying her now, Nines realised the depth of the hurt she felt – only a fraction of which she was showing. Tightening his arm around her, he wanted her to feel safe again with him._

"_I know, and I will," He assured her again. "I'll do whatever it takes…"_

"_Then stay home tonight!" Rosalynn pleaded; a renewed sense of energy gripping her voice and she grabbed his hands. "For once just stay with your family and enjoy the night instead of drowning in it! Whatever business you have with this friend of yours, it can wait until daylight. Be home to say goodnight to your daughter and be in company with me – I'm warmer than a damn whiskey bottle!"_

_Wrapping her arms around him, she leaned her head to his shoulder and nuzzled his neck._

"_Please, do this one thing for us." She added, her tone softening._

_Nines stroked her hair and kissed her forehead. He wanted to tell her everything she wanted to hear, to ease the burden on her heart. But something was holding him back – namely, the possibility that he could get them out of the trouble they were facing. He just couldn't get it out of his mind. Pulling away from her, he cupped her face in his hands and gazed into her eyes, searching for anything beyond the sadness. He couldn't find anything except heartache._

_He kissed her, and felt her fingernails digging into his back as she clung to him. _

"_I…" He started to reply, but was cut off when they heard the screen door swing open again._

"_Mama… daddy…?" Squeaked a tiny voice from behind them. _

_Pulling apart, Nines and Rosalynn looked back to see six-year-old Emily standing in the doorway, clutching her favourite, yet slightly worn-out, torn teddy bear. She stared at them through curious eyes, wondering what they were doing outside. The brunette child was the picture of innocence, with her long hair tied into braided pigtails and a white, flowing dress. _

_Almost immediately, the perceptive child noticed the wetness that stained her mother's cheeks. Emily furrowed her brows, and stuck her bottom lip out in a thoughtful pout._

"_Mama, why are you crying?" She asked, stepping out onto the porch, stepping aside to let the door slam shut behind her. _

_Rosalynn and Nines exchanged worried looks, but said nothing as she approached and dropped to her knees just behind them. Emily took several moments to cautiously look back and forth between them, trying to figure out for herself what was happening._

_Rosalynn forced a weary smile and quickly dragged an arm across her eyes to dry the tears._

"_Nothing, baby," She stressfully replied, in a weak attempt to be cheerful. _

_Unconvinced, Emily then looked at her dad, who returned her a warm small smile. Reaching behind himself, Nines snaked an arm around the child's midsection, and gave her sides an affectionate squeeze._

"_Mama's right, darlin'," He echoed his wife's statement. "Everything's fine."_

_Emily squinted her eyes and crinkled her nose, casting her parents a suspicious look that made them both laugh. _

"_Are you suuuure?" She questioned, dragging out the last word in emphasis. _

"_I promise, Baby Angel."_

_Satisfied with the answer, Emily shifted her gaze to her Rosalynn._

"_The pot on the stove is bubbling. You told me to come get you when it was bubbling." She solemnly declared to her mother._

_A smile tugged at the corners of Rosalynn's lips. The innocence of her baby was endearing. Blinking away tears from the corners of her eyes, she gave her daughter a curt nod._

"_Thank you, sweetheart. I'll be in, in a moment."_

"_Did I do a good job of keeping watch of the stove?" Emily asked, her wide eyes glistening with genuine anticipation. _

"_You did a wonderful job, Emily."_

_Emily grinned and jumped up from where she sat. "Thank you!"_

_They watched the happy child skip merrily back inside the house, and disappear down the corridor. It felt like the good cheer she brought with her also disappeared at that point and the cloud of uncertainty settled over Nines and Rosalynn once more. _

_Uncomfortably silent, Nines looked at his wife and saw that her smile had disappeared, to be replaced with sadness etched all over her beautiful features._

_Rosalynn kicked at the dirt at the bottom of the steps with the heel of her shoe. Feeling Nines run his fingers lovingly up and down the curve of her spine, she couldn't help but shiver and tense. Normally his touch made her melt – even after all these years. But tonight, like most nights in recent times, him being so close was more tense and uncomfortable than anything else._

"_What's wrong?" Nines broke the silence._

"_How can you keep leaving her every night, only to come back drunk and not even care…?" Rosalynn answered numbly. _

_The hurt in her tone stung him badly, and Nines couldn't help but cringe. There was that subtle hurt again. Sensing she wasn't done, he said nothing._

_Rosalynn shook her head sadly. "It isn't fair to us."_

_She paused and lifted her gaze, and gave Nines a serious look._

"_Don't go," she implored him. "Please."_

_Nines hesitated, knowing he was going to regret what he knew he had to say next. _

"_I… can't," He replied, looking away so he didn't see the devastation sweep across his wife's face. "I have to do this."_

_A man putting his stubborn pride before his family – is this who she was married to now? She should've known. Inside, Rosalynn felt her heart breaking all over again but outwardly she refused to show it. Closing her eyes, a single tear managed to escape and roll down her cheek, and she drew in several long breaths to steady her thumping heart._

"_Say something…" Nines begged._

_Rosalynn bit her lip, and opened her eyes. _

"_Okay…" she whispered upon a trembling breath, and brushed the unshed tears from her eyes. _

_She stood up, not bothering to even look at him again for fear of breaking down. Instead, she turned and made her way over to the door. When she got there, she spun around and saw Nines staring after her. This time, she didn't try to hide her heartache at his choice._

"_You do whatever it is you think you need to do. But I'll say this now, in case I don't have the nerve to say it to your drunken face later," she coldly snapped, venom dripping from every word. "All I ever needed - all Emily and I ever needed was for you to be here. That's all I ever asked of you. But you go ahead and do what you feel you must, but don't expect to find that quick answer you're looking for… and don't expect your daughter and me to stay around if all you want is to redeem your pride. I thought I married someone better than that." _

_With that said, she spun around on her heels and threw the door open, storming inside, leaving Nines to stare after her - silenced in his devastation. _

**PRESENT DAY LOS ANGELES**

Neither of them had known it at that point, but that would be the last thing she would ever say to him. So bitter and hurt, Rosalynn had resorted to a woman's number one act of resentful defiance against her man – retreating into absolute silent treatment, not even speaking a word as she served dinner that night. Nor did she look at him. When he had said he was leaving, nearly an hour later, she gave him no reply. At that time, they didn't know that it would be the last time they would ever see each other. Nines never forgot the hurt he saw in her eyes, nor the sadness in her voice – or the angry words that finished their final conversation. He had truly broken her heart, and to leave her forever in that state was painful to endure. The tragic side of immortality was carrying the heartbreaking loss and the even more heartbreaking memories. What came with it was the endless torment of guilt gnawing at him.

Needless to say, he wasn't the same man after that night – and not just for the obvious reasons. Along with his body, Nines had mentally morphed into something infinitely darker. No longer the caring, predictable man he was in his life, over the passing decades he allowed himself to become an empty shell. It was better this way, after all this world wasn't exactly inviting to individuals with a soul. No… what had propelled him to leadership of an entire movement had been his determination to let go of everything he once was, except for the very thing that made him keep wanting to hold onto that very last thread of humanity he knew he still had to have somewhere.

Determined, cold, unwilling to stand down to overwhelming odds, an inspirational speaker, aggressively idealistic, and for some reason he had developed the ability to draw kindred into the anarch's cause… this was Nines Rodriguez as he existed now.

Mediating on the memory of that fateful evening in 1933, Nines realised that he long ago had reconciled himself to the changes he went through. Latching on to a memory would sooner result in Final Death than anything else, which is why he rarely gave himself time alone long enough to reflect.

Of course, he should've listened to her that night. At the very least, he would've avoided becoming the target of a determined predator that would strip him of his life, and take him away from him his family. But more so, he should've done the right thing and stayed home for his wife's sake. Rosalynn had made a simple request, a _reasonable_ request, and he couldn't see past his own ego to be the man she knew he used to be.

Nines' jaw clenched when he remembered that moment he lost everything. Blinking away the memory, he shook away any lingering thoughts of his family and realised where he was again. Standing under the shower, he finished washing the filth and stench from his body. The staleness that pretty much occupied every inch of The Last Round was difficult to get over, and sometimes it was downright suffocating.

When he was finished he turned off the water and stepped out on the soft bathroom mat, and snatched the nearest towel off the rack. He wrapped it tightly around his waist and left the bathroom, leaving his clothes lying strewn across the floor.

No sooner than he had put a foot into the bedroom, Nines jumped when someone began pounding on the door.

"Nines, man, open up!" Skelter's muffled voice yelled. "This is important, get out here!"

"It can wait!" Nines yelled back, not in the mood to see anyone tonight.

Being the unofficial leader of the entire Los Angeles Anarch movement had many disadvantages – the worst one being that it was hard to get any real private time. It felt like everyone was breathing down his neck, screaming his name, and vying for his attention in some way.

"Trust me man, you really need to hear this!" His second-in-command persisted, and banged on the door again. "Something's goin' down."

Nines rolled his eyes before dragging himself over to the bed. He pulled out a bag he had stuffed underneath the bed and unzipped it, and took out the first pair of pants and the first t-shirt that he came across. Dark jeans and a black t-shirt and sneakers would suffice. After slipping into the clothes he wandered over to the door, and opened it to see Skelter standing there – looking more than a little stressed out. The bulging veins in his neck silently told Nines that something serious was concerning his friend.

Quirking a brow, he casually leaned against the doorframe. His silence implored his friend to continue.

Skelter couldn't help but notice the fatigue and distress weighing down Nines. Being already dead, none of them were going to be winning any beauty pageants any time soon, but even by vampire standards Nines appeared worn out.

"You look like you've just been through hell." Skelter wryly commented, momentarily forgetting the urgency of the situation he was trying to bring to Nines' attention.

"You don't need me to tell you how fucked up that statement is," Nines replied. This mean existence they all had to endure was his idea of hell – that, and the eternity of guilt that accompanied his weary soul.

"Whatever. Look, something's rockin' with the Sabbat and you should check it out."

At the mention of those savage brutes, Nines straightened up, dropping his arms to his sides.

"Aww fuck!" He growled, shaking his head. "Don't tell me those slugs decided to make another run on the city…"

He trailed off when Skelter shook his head, and immediately felt relieved to know that wasn't the case.

"Hell no. With Andrei gone, those motherfuckers ain't got the energy or smarts to even lick their wounds," Skelter replied, smirking at the thought of the remaining Sabbat slinking away, humiliated and destroyed.

"Then what the hell is it?" Nines wondered, slightly annoyed.

"I just caught word from Isaac. He's been getting buzzed all night with phone calls from the east coast. Apparently the Sabbat is raising all kinds of hell, and has…"

Skelter trailed off, as he became lost on the thought. It took a hard punch on his arm, courtesy of Nines' impatience, to jolt him back to reality.

"Skelter, you got ten seconds to say what you gotta say or I'll—!"

"Okay, okay! Man, I get it!" Skelter quickly replied, holding his hands up defensively. Clearly, Nines wasn't in the mood to be tested that night. "Look, word is the Sabbat has torn the Camarilla of New York City completely down. A surprise attack that for some reason went undetected by our people and even those goddamn Camarilla assholes, the Sabbat launched simultaneous attacks on four New York boroughs… now I dunno how those dumb fuckers managed to do it, let alone actually plan it, but it seems its worked. The entire Camarilla over in that city is a complete mess…"

Skelter paused to check out Nines' response, and saw focus and even curiosity return to his eyes. Nines glanced away thoughtfully for a second. The Sabbat tore apart New York? Usually matters involving other states didn't get his attention, but _this_ was a juicy piece of information – one that could help them in the future should the Sabbat actually muster the strength to launch another assault on Los Angeles. Letting out a low whistle, Nines returned his attention to Skelter, with renewed energy.

"How the hell could the Sabbat get up that much power, and go unnoticed?

"That's the question everybody's askin'. And apparently while all this is goin' down, the Kuei-Jin are sittin' on the sidelines, laughing their asses off at the whole mess while making an effort to actually stay _on_ the Camarilla's radar – it's got people wondering whether they're about to make a run on the city, too."

Nines frowned before stepping out into the main corridor and pulled the door shut behind him. The two men started towards the common room, where they heard the loudness of the television echoing down the narrow structure.

"Where are the Anarchs through all this…?" Nines wondered, as they took their time walking.

"In hiding. The Nosferatu gave 'em a heads up to the Baron there, Mikhail, and he ordered all Anarchs to 'go underground' for a while and apparently he has sent out a couple of teams to investigate what's goin' on. But that ain't the most interesting thing…"

"Oh, it gets better?"

Skelter nodded. "Hell yeah! The Prince of that city is uh… missing."

Nines grabbed his arm and pulled him to a stop. "No shit?"

"For real, man. Since the Sabbat jumped on their asses so unexpectedly, no one knows where she is."

"_She_?"

Female princes weren't uncommon, but mainly held domain over smaller cities. The vampire world pretty much ran in a similar way that the mortal world did in the sense that the power club at the top of the Camarilla hierarchy ran as an 'all-boys' club. Though it wasn't impossible for a woman to come in and claim domain, she'd have to be very damn powerful and influential, and manipulative. Male elders in the Camarilla Holy Circle were even less receptive to females than what you would find in mortal conditions.

Skelter nodded, understanding Nines' surprised reaction. "Yeah. I ain't got the info on her yet – I'm waiting for a contact of mine in New York to get back to me, but there are some things…"

"Such as…?"

"From what I got on her, she's been hanging around with the Camarilla since her embrace… but she's a damn mystery; doesn't like getting close to anyone so no one knows much on her. From what my contact says, she's been around the city since her embrace in, like, the 30's or 40's or somethin'…"

"She's been kindred for less than a century and already she's a goddamn prince?" Nines stated, disdainfully. He found it hard to believe that a vampire of around his age had managed to conquer New York City on her own – a female vampire no less.

"I know. From what I hear she's really powerful. Been Prince for about thirty years – she's the one who took out our Jordan Malovski. But she's missin'. No one knows if she's dead, or in hiding or whatever…"

"Damn, she's the one who took out Jordan? Jeez…" Nines muttered, remembering his fallen colleague as one of the most badass Anarchs he had ever come across. The fact that a Camarilla bitch had taken him out was like salt in an open wound.

The two men began walking at an even slower pace than before, in no haste to meet up with the others.

"Yeah I know. It's fucked up over there right now, and there's no word on how the east coast Anarchs are holding up, but with this New York Prince missing everything over there is in complete disarray. But from what I've been told, this chick is bad – complete iron fist enforcement of the Masquerade and actually enjoys being the one to personally deliver the punishment to offenders. She likes to get her hands dirty - basically the anti-Lacroix."

Leaving Nines to ponder those lingering comments, Skelter hastened his pace and went ahead of him into the common room, where Damsel, Jack and several other Anarachs were crowded on the sofa, all pairs of eyes fixated on the one television screen mounted on a TV stand against the opposite wall. Nines followed Skelter in, though none noticed their arrival.

Skelter and Nines came up behind one of the sofas, and Nines tapped Damsel on her shoulder.

"Ya?" Came the single-word acknowledgment from the former college student turned rebel.

Nines didn't have to ask her what they were watching – it was pretty obvious from the images on the screen. Kine law enforcement was surrounding what was reported to be terrorist attacks on several New York City buildings. It took all of two seconds to recognise the cops on the television as being NYPD, and the all-too familiar New York City landscape illuminated in the background. Staring blankly at the screen, Nines felt his chest tighten a little at the site of the city in which he hadn't been to since the mid-1930s. Too many bad memories were attached to that city.

"Any new developments?" Nines asked her, in his usual authoritative no-bullshit tone that masked his discomfort.

Damsel didn't bother looking back at him to know who it was, and merely shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.

"Same old bullshit from the Sabbat tearin' up New York," she explained, not bothering to hide a satisfied smirk. "The Camarilla got their asses handed to them tonight!"

"Damn, girl, could you get any happier?" Skelter commented, taking a seat beside her on the armrest of the sofa.

"What? To see the Sabbat and Camarilla tearing at each other like that? Hell yeah!" Damsel exclaimed, throwing Skelter a mean look for taking the sarcastic tone with her.

Nines ignored the banter between the two, and focused intently on the screen. "Don't go getting all hyped up over this yet, Damsel. Not until we hear how the Anarchs are doin'…" He flatly stated, not removing his gaze from the screen.

Meanwhile, situated on the other armrest, Jack casually leaned against the backrest and exhaled the toxic air from the cigar he was enjoying. Appearing not particularly interested in what was being revealed on the television, he sank back quietly into his own thoughts. Hell, any Sabbat versus Camarilla shit that makes the kine news is always worth checking out. If he was still mortal, the only thing that could make it better would be a truck load of beer and snacks like it was a Pay-Per-View. For the untrained mortal or even immortal eye, the results of some of these vampire 'wars' appeared as nothing more than a terrorist act… but for those who recognised the subtle clues left by the supernatural perpetrators.

He too ignored the ranting between Skelter and Damsel, instead opting to continue studying the images on the screen. Of course, the news program wasn't broadcasting the horrifically bloody scenes that were surely locked behind the walls and police tape of the building, but the telltale signs were there.

"I still don't know why we gotta care about any of this shit in New York," Damsel remarked, staring at the screen while idly twisting locks of her hair around her fingers.

"Heh! You gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me, rookie." Jack laughed; using the nickname he gave the fiery redhead since Damsel was always acting before thinking, rushing into things and was really the definition of a wild youth-turned-rebel and acted in many ways like a rookie or newbie vampire would, even though they all knew she was a tough-as-nails and powerful Anarch member. If it weren't for Nines keeping her on a tight leash, forcing her to watch over The Last Round, all the men were certain she'd sooner or later explode from the rage bubbling underneath her alabaster skin.

Damsel scowled but said nothing, drawing a deep chuckle from the legendary vampire.

"If the Sabbat are leading a revolt on the east coast, and succeed, do you really think they're gonna be satisfied? Their goal is the same as the Camarilla's – bend America to the will of their own sect," one of their fellow Anarchs, Kali Carpathia, spoke up from where she sat cross-legged on the floor in front of the television. The blonde fledgling whipped around where she sat and looked at Damsel. "If the Sabbat is raisin' hell over there, it's only a matter of time before they try it here too."

"And this time it looks like they might have the numbers on their side," Skelter added.

"Great," Nines bitterly mused, not thrilled by the idea of having another Sabbat distraction. "I ain't got time for this bullshit… if any of those animals wanna try it, they can bring their game here. We aren't gonna be chasin' a war that has got nothing to do with us."

"Too bad. I'm in the mood for bashing a few Sabbat skulls together." Damsel said.

Nines didn't answer her, instead sinking back into his own thoughts as he pondered over the situation. If the Sabbat got a strong foothold on the east coast, then Kali was right – it would be only a matter of time before they would gain enough numbers to make a run west. As things stood now, the Anarchs here didn't have the numbers or resources to put up a full-scale defense after the last few nights' events. Nines stepped away from his colleagues, and retreated to solitude in the corner of the room. Leaning against the wall, he stood in quiet contemplation. It was always so difficult to read him, and see beyond his stoic behaviour. That's how he liked it. Remaining unpredictable even to colleagues only worked in his favour in keeping his enemies on their toes.

Nothing escaped the notice of Smilin' Jack, though. The former pirate eyed Nines with suspicion. The quiet retreat of the anarch leader fuelled some serious questions. Having been around for a long time, Jack was one of the few who could read almost any situation… and for some reason he got the feeling that something was distracting Nines.

Getting to his feet, Jack ignored the other Anarchs who were busily engaging themselves in a debate over something to do with the Sabbat movement, and approached Nines with caution.

"You a'right?" Jack said, crossing his arms. He already knew the answer.

"Something's not right," Nines replied, uncertainty sweeping through his eyes. "We're lookin' at a full assault by the Sabbat and I don't know if I got what it takes to take those motherfuckers out this time."

Jack's brows furrowed and he remained stone-faced. Was this actually _doubt_ he was hearing from Nines Rodriguez?

"Hoh… holy shit man, what do we got here - Nines Rodriguez cowering from a fight?" He mocked. Nines shot him a cold glare, but said nothing as if conceding the point.

Nines shook his head slowly, and lowered his gaze to the floor. "Makes me wonder if anything we're doin' is making one bit of difference. I hate to admit it, but if the Camarilla is on the ropes over there, then there's nothing standing between the Sabbat and Kuei-Jin, and the Anarchs. I dunno why but I got a feelin' that we ain't got a chance in hell…"

"Well here's a thought for ya: Why the fuck do you care? You gotta deal with the west coast; let our brothers in the east deal with that shit." Jack pointed out, unsure why Nines had suddenly fallen into this state of doubtfulness. Nines was really the only anarch left who had any real power to energize the anarch movement, and get more vampires on their side. His charisma and passion was second-to-none, and it was hard not to be inspired by him.

"Fuck that, you know the numbers ain't as strong over there. New York's been Camarilla for the last thirty years at least. The Anarchs there don't have the safety in numbers and they're runnin' out of space as the fucking Kuei-Jin and Sabbat trade blows over turf," Nines lamented, recalling his conversation with Skelter from minutes ago.

"Even so, man, you gotta wake up. That ain't none of your business to be dealing in," Jack told him, raising the cigar to his lips again. "Hell, even if the Sabbat try to make it over here again, you can only deal with what's in front of ya. We've almost got this city outta the Camarilla's slimy grasp."

"The Prince over there has gone missing. Know anything about that?"

The question caught Jack off-guard, but he didn't show it. After a short pause, he shrugged and casually shook his head.

"Hell no. Like I said, why do you care? A Prince goin' missing either means he's dead or the fucking coward has run off. It ain't none of our business and all the more reason to celebrate…"

"Come on, man, don't play that with me," Nines wearily replied, and rubbed his weary eyes. Great. _Now_ his body wanted sleep. "You know what happens when a Prince goes missing. I doubt the Camarilla assholes are gonna be missin' Lacroix – even they saw through his shit, but Skelter tells me this New York prince is a Camarilla loyalist. You know the old boys at the top won't spare any expense in tracking down a missing Camarilla – a Prince, no less - who holds domain over a city like New York. They'll tear up the whole fucking country if they have to."

The man was tired. It was as simple as that, and it didn't take a genius to see it. In all fairness, Nines was pretty much responsible for finding support and leading the charge to rid the entire city of the Camarilla, Sabbat, and even Kuei-Jin sects.

"Ya gotta snap out of it, Nines. Kids are out there fightin' for a cause that _you_ taught them was worth fightin' for. The newbies are disillusioned enough as it is, and I don't think it's gonna help anything for them to see you under a cloud of doubt."

He hated to admit it, but Jack was right – in every sense. There was no way he could give up the fight now, but it was hard to see where to go when there was no light at the end of the tunnel.

Jack chuckled, and gave Nines a friendly punch on the arm, jolting the younger vampire from his thoughts. "Heh, heh you'll be a'right. Just deal with what's in front of ya and deal out the ass-kicking's as they need to be dealt. Crush some skulls, break some necks, ya know, just do what ya gotta do. Do what you always do. Don't go batshit over what you got no control."

He didn't wait for Nines' response, and left the man to ponder those words as he rejoined the others. Left alone, Nines sighed and wondered how much of it he had gotten wrong. Who was he kidding? This war wasn't confined just to the boundaries of Los Angeles. It was a country-wide and even world-wide battle between the sects. The Anarchs in L.A. were just one of many chapters of the movement, fighting to free kindred from the confines of Camarilla. The idea that the Sabbat's east coast assault could make its way west was not so far-fetched.

Then, an idea began to formulate. Nines glanced at his watch. It was now plenty dark enough to venture out… into enemy territory.

He arched his back and worked the tension out of his neck, before looking over to where his colleagues were still seated; eyes glued to the television set. Amidst the quiet murmurs and discussions they were having, they didn't notice his approach behind the sofa to where he came up next to Skelter.

"Wassup?" Skelter said, giving him a nod.

Nines returned the gesture. "Everyone should get into the bar. Hang there for a bit. I'm gonna take a walk, I need to check in with someone." He stated, firmly. His tone spoke of his darkening mood, and that no one should dare to contradict him.

Skelter frowned, and threw a confused look to Jack before returning his attention to Nines. "Where?"

"Nowhere specifically you need to know, for now. I'm going alone, so I'll need you and Damsel to keep a check on the place while I'm gone."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Skelter interrupted. "What the hell are you talkin' about, man? Your head is the prized bounty of every Sabbat, Kuei-Jin and Camarilla in the state! You're gonna need some sort of backing."

"No one is to tail me, get it?" Nines snapped, his voice rising sharply with growing impatience, and stubbornly crossed his arms over his broad chest.

"You at least gonna tell us where you're headed?"

"No."

"Hold up, Nines," Jack interjected and stood up from where he sat.

By then, Damsel, Kali and several of the other Anarchs crowding around had paused in their own conversations, and had since turned to see what the debate was about. Jack came around to the back of the sofa, directly facing Nines.

"Now I know you ain't as stupid as you're acting," Jack said, and ignored the scathing look he received in return. "Somethin's up with you and there's no way I'm lettin' you out of my goddamn sight if you wanna horde your little secrets. Where you headed?"

Nines glowered at him for a few seconds, before responding. "I don't need anyone watchin' my back. That's a damn order, get it? If anyone tails me then there's gonna be hell and not just from me. This city's seen enough blood spilled for one night. There's no need to be givin' the Camarilla reasons to spill more."

Damsel twisted around where she sat to face him properly, now intrigued.

"You're going to see those miserable fucks?" She guessed, and cringed at the disgusting thought of going near a Camarilla without the purpose of splattering its brains all over the sidewalk.

"I need to sort out a few things. Might as well keep the peace while I'm at it," Nines coolly explained, taking the time to look everyone in the room in their eyes to make sure they understood perfectly what it was he was saying. "No doubt they're gonna be pissed about what Bella did last night, and they're all thinking it's us she's workin' for."

"But shouldn't that mean you should take back-up?" Kali spoke up, worry hinted in her tone. "I mean, I doubt the Camarilla are gonna be very hospitable, especially with you Nines, if you just show up on their doorstep."

"Look, I'm not gonna be flyin' the white flag or anything, but I sure as hell aren't gonna bring on anything aggressive," Nines replied. "If I show up then they'll talk. They know if they kill me, it'll be war for those assholes all over again. I'll be fine."

It was another strong personality trait that he harnessed as a skill over the decades since his embrace – stubbornness. This cause was the only thing left he would fight and die for. The standoff between Nines and his fellow Anarchs lasted only seconds, but each one of him knew straight away that he was serious. Usually he was a lot more cautious than this, and why he wanted to go meet the Camarilla after the hell that had broken loose all over the city that night was a mystery in itself.

Damsel exchanged a worried glance with Skelter, knowing the risk involved. It was uncharacteristic for Nines to be reckless, and they knew he was easily one of the more powerful vampires on the west coast but given the recent blood hunt that was placed on him and then called off, there were still going to be many vampires in opposing sects who'd be more than willing to take him out for glory's sake.

With a wistful sigh, she dragged herself up from the sofa and faced him.

"Don't go getting yourself killed over whatever fucking demons you've got," She said in a tone that was eerily chilled, given her fiery temper.

Nines nodded, just as Skelter approached him and held out a .38 caliber weapon and a grenade. Confident in his own abilities, he knew he wouldn't need much else to safeguard him from any over-enthusiastic newbie that would surely be sent to kill him. After all these years, he learned that the basic teachings behind all the other sects were the same: protect the guys at the top and send out the fledglings to do the dirty work, even if it meant that they weren't coming back. No training; no guidance; not even a stick to protect themselves with – no weapons except their bare white knuckles, eagerness to please, and total naiveté. No one at the top of the other sects would dare to get down and go toe-to-toe with the Anarchs - cowardly morons. He gratefully accepted the offerings, and hastily slid the gun into its holster that was clipped to his belt, looking up only to be greeted with the same concern in his colleagues' eyes – even Jack's.

"I got it under control," He quickly assured them with the quiet confidence in his voice he was well known for. "Don't worry guys. And don't follow. Whoever here wants to chance it will get this grenade shoved somewhere where it ain't comin' back."

With that final warning, Nines shoved past Jack and Skelter and stormed out of the building.

**Note: Another chapter coming soon.**


	5. Chapter 5

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**SUMMARY: Rosalynn arrives in Los Angeles, ready to tear the city apart looking for the Anarch leader and the fledgling – meanwhile, Nines makes a deal with the devil. But what is his true motivation for risking everything he is, for the sake of everything that could have been?**

* * *

**WITH ROSALYNN**

Waking up with a smile was something she wasn't accustomed to, but this was the best damn sleep she had gotten in a long time. Letting out a satisfied moan, Rosalynn rolled onto her stomach and stretched out her arms and legs, working them out of the self-imposed state of blissful rest.

"Mmm… that was nice," she murmured, and hugged her pillow.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she let out a small groan when the light in the room hit her retinas. Blinking furiously against the brilliant light, Rosalynn felt her senses reawakening after the wonderful rest she had enjoyed. Slowly roused out of deep slumber, the Prince reluctantly sat up and gazed around.

Sprawled over the sofa, Lucas was fast asleep, clutching a clipboard to his chest. Rosalynn shoved the blankets away and got out of the bed, and slowly made her way over to the sofa. She rolled her eyes, and smirked at the sight. If anything, Lucas could be likened to a bored frat boy but instead of being obsessed with beer and weed, he was obsessed with gathering information, and knowing everything about anything and everyone. Like her old friend, Beckett, who was obsessed with vampire lore and the search for history's truth about kindred, Lucas held the same passion for information and was sensible enough not to sell it for the highest price. He always insisted on using knowledge for progression and the benefit of the Camarilla, to protect vampires instead of setting out to have each clan or sect destroy each other.

She knelt down, and eased the clipboard out of Lucas' protective grasp.

"Too easy," Rosalynn muttered, shaking her head slightly in amusement.

Once free and clear of Lucas, and give him a second glance-over to see that she hadn't stirred him, she returned to her bedside and sat down. Rosalynn turned the clipboard over and her eyes scanned the page, and read Lucas' scrawled handwriting of jotted notes...

_**Log # 24**_

_**Pre-arranged travels for Prince Rosalynn to travel unescorted to Los Angeles through pre-approved and secured transport as arranged in confidence with New York City Tremere primogen, Alyssandra Tudor. Place of residence has been arranged for her arrival in downtown Los Angeles, at the Empire Arms Hotel. Strict security team will be arranged between Alyssandra and Tremere Regent of Los Angeles, Maximillian Strauss. **_

_**Give special requests to Camarilla leaders of Los Angeles to prepare for Rosalynn's arrival, including meeting with Camarilla agents in nearest secure Elysium. Alyssandra has agreed to contact all Los Angeles-based primogen and made the arrangements.**_

The log continued on for several more paragraphs, detailing the names and locations of several powerful Camarilla allies in the city of Los Angeles. But, it was the last line of the very last paragraph that caught Rosalynn's attention.

"Okay…" she murmured, tracing a finger underneath the line.

_**Detail of note: Computer file logs of AND2LA updated. Password changed. Do not forget to request Nosferatu primogen, Bailey, for new encryption key codes for encryption level PST3.**_

That got her thinking. Lucas obviously did not want any prying eyes to whatever it was that the file contained. And it seemed he would even go as far as to reach out to those disgusting Nosferatu for their expertise in codes and encryption to protect the file's keepsake. What the hell did AND2LA mean? Lucas was keeping his secrets, and at a time like this… Rosalynn could not afford to have her right-hand man keeping secrets from her, especially since this juicy little detail as logged in the same entry as Lucas' detailing of her travels to and people of Los Angeles. Perhaps this had more to do with her than Lucas wanted her to know. Lastly… she recognised the PST3 encryption level. PST3 – Encryptions designed to encode data that cannot be cracked by even the most skilled hackers, including primogen and princes.

Furrowing her brows, Rosalynn glared at the text and wondered what it could mean. Lucas was hiding information that was worthy of _that_ level of secrecy and security?

She looked over at him, perplexed. "What the hell have you been doing, Lucas…?"

Rosalynn steadily rose to her feet and wandered over to the sofa once more, stopping at the end where Lucas had propped up his feet. She glared at him for a few moments, pondering what she should do. Wake him and demand him to give her access to the files? Or crack the code herself and get into the file before he wakes up? It was clear from his notes that he had yet to contact the Nosferatu on this matter, so perhaps it was worth a shot.

She went over to the connecting door to the next room, and left Lucas in his blissful slumber. Rosalynn quickly spotted the laptop computer sitting open on the table on the other side of the room as if to beckon her to it. Her lips curled into a crooked smile, silently musing how easy it was.

She made her way to the laptop and sat down on the cushioned chair in front of it.

"Now, what do we have here…?" Rosalynn murmured, her eyes glued to the screen and looked over the folders sitting on the screen's desktop. Inventory Invoices. Sabbat Mappings and Sightings. Primogen Information Sheets. And… Log Files.

"Excellent," she added, and clicked the icon.

A password box popped up. A few seconds of putting her hacking skills to good use quickly solved it, and it didn't take long before the computer gave up Lucas' secret password – CamarillaWarrior. Rosalynn snorted and she tried to stifle laughter.

"Oh man, Lucas… you are a loser sometimes," she remarked in jest.

Of course, it was all in good fun. She loved Lucas, but sometimes he was absolutely priceless. Basic computer passwords such as this weren't difficult to break at all. The file opened and revealed several sub-files, and the one marked AND2LA was the one that caught her eyes. Rosalynn paused, and cast a nervous glance over her shoulder, before returning her attention to the screen - another password box had appeared.

Several minutes later, she was in! Her eyes glistened excitedly, and she came across the one file that apparently contained this secret Lucas wanted to keep.

"Ha, ha… nice try, my friend," Rosalynn mocked aloud, and opened the file.

Sure enough, she had been right. Lucas hadn't yet had the chance to get those PST3 level encodings set to the files yet, allowing her to access the all-revealing information he sought to keep from her.

With a satisfied smirk spreading across her pale face, Rosalynn sank against the backrest of the chair and studied the document – a journal entry marked only this evening, and time stamped.

**JOURNAL ENTRY #2153 – 7:44 PM**

_Tonight's events have proved to have taken an undeniable toll on Ms. Rosalynn. She never admits to weakness, but I can tell that something is burdening her. I have never seen her so troubled in such a subtle way. Usually she expels her anger or nervous energy in any way that doesn't lack in obviousness, but tonight she was quieter than usual. She would normally be informing every subordinate around of her violent plans to extract revenge on the low-life tormentors who seek to unseat her as Prince of New York City, and to destroy the Camarilla. But tonight, she merely studied the news of Los Angeles and then went to rest. Not that I can say much against that, because she was visibly weary from the sudden onslaught of the unexpected Sabbat attack. There was just something intangible. Something mysterious that I detected – perhaps a burden on her heart that has been weighing her – is more obvious than I'm sure she intends it to be. But alas my musings here will not crack the eternal lock on her heart. _

_For tonight's journal entry, I yield a piece of information I admit I am afraid to inform Ms. Rosalynn of. She is so angry tonight. How she managed to fall into slumber, I do not know. But I do not think it was solely the actions of the Sabbat tonight that is driving her fury, but a hurt that has lingered. She'll never speak of it. But tonight I saw in her eyes the very same look I've noticed in them for a long while now. All kindred hold their own secrets as a last measure to hold onto their humanity, but with her I know this is different._

Rosalynn stopped reading, looking away from the screen. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so surprised. Lucas was really the only one she'd allow herself to relinquish her guard around. And he'd never betray her, which was always a bonus. In a world where loyalty only existed upon misplaced curiosities, and betrayal became the nature of all kindred in some form, Lucas proved to be the rarity.

She slumped against the backrest of the chair and let out a whimsical sigh, pondering Lucas' written words. Had she been so blinded by her own ambitions that she failed to notice the watchful, caring gaze of her friend who worried in silence? True friendship was a laughable concept in the kindred world, but Lucas' friendship was the only form of relationship she valued now. Once upon a time, during her mortal years, she had so many friends and a wonderful family to give her all the love and strength she needed. Little did she know that the value of friendship would become her single strongest thread, with which she'd desperately grasp onto humanity. She had nothing else... and no one else.

Rosalynn returned her sad eyes to the screen, and continued reading…

_No matter her pain, though, she remains a truly wonderful leader whom I will always be proud to serve under._

That one comment returned a smile to her face – a grateful smile.

_I never usually require my journal entries to require such intense security, however this next part I cannot risk Ms. Rosalynn finding on her own. I have been in contact with Maximillian Strauss, the Tremere Primogen and Regent of the Los Angeles chantry. He and Alyssandra are close allies, and thus it was fairly easy to establish contact with him. He is keen to meet with Rosalynn, and discuss with her the possibility of sending reinforcements here to New York to help re-establish order. He has informed me that with the defeat of the Sabbat in Los Angeles and the Kuei-Jin being in disarray, that he could surely free up enough backup to assist us over here. _

_I have no doubt that she won't refuse it, but she seems to have a vested interest in Camarilla and Anarch activities in Los Angeles, especially since Sebastian Lacroix's death. She's obsessed with finding out who the Anarch leader is, and discerning from him the details concerning this fledgling who managed to take over Los Angeles._

_I have not found, yet, his identity. I got the feeling from my discussions with Mr. Strauss that he knew the leader's identity, and yet for some reason he refused to divulge the information. He cited security reasons, and I accept that however I know Rosalynn will not. Nonetheless… should Strauss continue to withhold information, I have a contact who recently left Los Angeles, and who gave me the name of a close acquaintance of the anarch leader, by the name of Skelter. I managed to talk to this contact, located in San Diego. She identified herself as Patty, and she informed me of her recent but brief dealings with the fledgling who caused havoc across L.A., Bella. She gave me the exact location of where to find this Skelter person…_

Rosalynn gasped, and read.

_An Elysium in downtown Los Angeles – a bar, called The Last Round._

A slow smile spread across her face. This was the best news she could possibly receive, and yet Lucas was hell bent on keeping it from her. She understood why. Given her current mood and the current state of New York City, it was perfectly reasonable for him to _not_ want her to act on impulse and rush of to start World War III with this Anarch leader, whoever he was. But… the rush of excitement that exploded through her veins brought little concealment of her relief at knowing this.

Rosalynn pushed her chair back and got to her feet, and quickly closed the open documents on Lucas' computer. Leaving no trace of her deception, she rushed from the room and back into her own room.

Quietly she peered over the side of the sofa as she walked by. There he was, still snoring away without any care – or realisation – of what she had done. Cautiously she leaned down and slipped the clipboard in his arms before leaving his side.

She went to the bed and removed a small suitcase lodged underneath it, dumping it on the bed. Her eyes poured over the contents – clothes, basic necessities… everything she'd need for a quick escape. Lucas had prepared everything for her, as usual.

_What would I do without him?_

She'd never admit it aloud, but it was a truth she never found much comfort in. Casting a dubious glance over her shoulder to Lucas, she never could understand or contemplate what her unlife would be without him. True, she'd have to start taking care of herself and her affairs a lot more, and she wouldn't have the confidant she always valued him to be.

Turning her attention back to her suitcase, she made one last inspection of its contents, making sure she had everything. She grabbed the first pair of pants and sweater she could find and made her way to the bathroom.

Leaving New York without security was not her brightest moment, she was no fool. Rosalynn pushed the thought to the back of her mind. Now was not a time to be questioning her own judgment.

Rosalynn turned to the mirror and dragged an unimpressed gaze up to her face. She was a mess, and in no state to go out in public. Nonetheless, she quickly stripped and changed into the casual wear before returning to the main room. As she finished packing her suitcase, she couldn't help but wonder what would become of her beloved New York City while she was gone. Of course, she had instructed Lucas to call upon the Primogen to step up and take control in her absence, whilst she would be periodically briefed by Lucas as to the goings-on.

She shoved the rest of her clothes into the suitcase and zipped it up, before turning around and checked if she had missed anything. Her eyes fell upon Lucas in slumber. He hadn't moved at all. Perhaps leaving his presence undetected would be easier than she may have expected.

Rosalynn heaved the suitcase off the bed and lugged it over to the sofa. Careful not to wake her friend, she stopped one end of it and stared at him. Sadness settled in her eyes. Poor Lucas. He did so much for her and got little reward in return. She vocalised her appreciation many times, but she often wondered if it was enough – whether he was sticking with her because of loyalty, or just because he wouldn't survive anywhere else. His head was nearly as valuable as hers, to the other sects. If one could get to Lucas, chances are one could also get to Rosalynn. Thankfully, no one had ever come close – until tonight, that is.

Rosalynn held the suitcase with both hands. It was a weight she wasn't used to carrying, since she usually had her minions around her to do all the heavy lifting for her.

"I'm sorry, my friend," She sombrely murmured. She hoped he'd make it out. She couldn't imagine an eternal existence without him at her side.

She bent down and placed a kiss to Lucas' temple, before leaving his side and made her way to the door. Opening it, she paused at the threshold and cast one last fleeting glance over her shoulder. Though she couldn't see Lucas over the back of the sofa, she stared sadly for a few seconds.

"Be safe," she added in a whisper and then left, seeking to enter the unknown world beyond New York City.

**DOWNTOWN LOS ANGELES, TREMERE CHANTRY**

He might as well have been standing in a crowded room naked. That was how vulnerable he felt right now. Nevertheless, it had to be done. Such was the grim responsibility of being the anointed leader of a city-wide battle for survival against the oppressors of freedom. Nines sat in the romantically subtle, warmly decorated lounge room of the Chantry. Enemy territory didn't even begin to describe it, to him. The only light was provided by the leaping flames from the fireplace, dancing effortless with the same burning pine for freedom that he felt in his unbeating heart.

The first few moments upon arrival had been daunting. The tension could be cut with a knife. His weapons had been promptly snatched from him the moment his knocks at the door had been answered by two Tremere apprentices. Of all the clans, the Tremere were the least trustworthy and the least trusting. They both, without a word spoken, hastily led him to the room where he was then met by the Regent, Maximillian Strauss. It had been a cordial greeting, but hostile all the same.

Now seated directly across from the notoriously reclusive Regent, and with only the long oak coffee table to separate them, Nines awaited his response. He glared at him through steely cold eyes. Strauss, however, was never one to be foolishly rushed. Quiet in thought, he sank against the back rest of the opposing sofa, clutching a goblet of chilled blood in his hands. Nines' goblet remained untouched on the table.

"Hmm… a most interesting proposal, Mister Rodriguez…" He mused, pondering Nines' last words, and glanced up from the goblet. "By why so much hospitality to us now…?"

Nines shrugged, not for one second allowing his mistrust to subside. "Because it ain't you I'm worried about at this time, but I wanted to make sure you'd play before I agree to any sort of alliance in wiping out the Kuei-Jin."

"Oh your generosity is _astounding_," Strauss sarcastically shot back, and raised the goblet to his lips to conceal the sly smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Perhaps, though, a reason for your request might influence me to make a more positive inclination towards your position."

"Look Strauss, don't start that bullshit with me. I ain't going to play your games. I know how crippled the Camarilla is right now, in the throes of disillusionment and disorganisation since Lacroix went up in flames. The only reason we haven't hauled your asses across state lines again is because we both got one other huge problem in the Kuei-Jin, despite Ming-Xiao's death. You give me what I need, and I'll guarantee that our people will hold off on whooping Camarilla ass, until the Kuei-Jin is cleaned out. Hell, we'll do all the heavy liftin' for you if you give us what we need."

Nines' tone spoke of no bullshit. He wanted something big, and was ready to deal with the devil himself to get it – something his colleagues would surely have something to speak about when he got back. But the way he saw it, he was merely accepting a deal that Bella had brought to the table before Lacroix was blown up.

"I must admit, I am greatly surprised, Mister Rodriguez," Strauss' voice drew him back to reality. "The information you want from me… it must be worth much to you, for you are willing to set aside your differences with _us_."

Nines' eyes narrowed at him. He didn't like it, but there was no other way.

"This ain't my proudest moment," He admitted through clenched teeth, carefully selecting his words. "But those eastern assholes are the biggest problem for you and us. Breathe a word of this meeting to anyone else, and I assure you – you'll have bigger problems than the Kuei-Jin."

Strauss let out a lofty laugh, brimming with the natural arrogance a Tremere possessed, which further incensed the anarch.

"Oh, do not worry, young one. We Tremere, and the Camarilla, excel in the practice of discretion, unlike our Sabbat – and dare I say Anarch – brethren…"

_Asshole_, Nines thought, but refused to take the bait. _Too bad we're in a damn Elysium…_

"Be rest assured, Mister Rodriguez, that just because we are adversaries joining together only to fight a common foe – it does not mean that I shan't be respectful. Indeed, I shall hold the utmost respect for allies, even Anarchs, should it assist us to be ridding this city of the Kuei-Jin. After all, I am a Tremere… and we hold ourselves to the highest standards which we are renowned for. Do not fear – your secret shall remain well hidden from prying ears."

"Including your own?" Nines questioned, raising a brow sceptically.

Strauss nodded, and sipped from his goblet. "But of course. No other kindred, including Tremere, need know of your or my own reasons for this brokered alliance. However, as guarded as you feel you must be with me, in order for me to get what it is that you want, you must describe a certain amount of information."

Nines looked away, to the fireplace. He hated to admit it to even himself, but Strauss was right. There was no way he could get away with exploiting the Tremere Regent without first divulging more information than he cared to. He sighed, and nodded slowly.

He never before told even his closest companions - Damsel, Skelter, and to a lesser extent even Jack – anything about his past, except the time he was birthed into the world of darkness. To say any of it to an enemy did no less than to go against every instinct and principle he had.

Nervously smoothing a hand over his hair, Nines exhaled slowly as through trying to steady some imagined fear. Well, not so imagined.

"Okay…" He reluctantly agreed. "Deal. Now, I need some information and I don't care how you get it, or from who."

"Who is she?" Strauss asked, smirking. It was a question that stunned the rebel leader. "Or should I say… who _was_ she?"

Nines blinked, but couldn't undo the shock. "What the fuck…? How the hell did you—?"

"Just call it an educated guess…" Strauss smoothly cut him off, and sipped from the goblet as though he hadn't a care in the world. "Tell me, Mister Rodriguez – tell me what it is that I suspect you have never told anyone before, not even your own colleagues."

He really should've been more curious as to why Strauss had so accurately pinpointed the issue. He should've gone to the Nosferatu for help instead of the Camarilla – but even in the wake of Lacroix's destruction, they couldn't be found. He suspected word had yet to filter through their ranks of Bella's success. Or perhaps it had, and they decided to go out of reach of the Camarilla's warpath. He could've waited until they resurfaced, somewhere, and surely Isaac would've told him where to find them, but he couldn't wait. What he needed to know was eating him up to the point he was barely functioning as a leader. It was crippling – threatening their cause, if he allowed it to overwhelm him which it was close to doing.

At the moment, he didn't give a damn about any of it. Not hiding his resentment from the kindred seated across from him, Nines felt his muscles tighten beneath his shirt. He wanted to smack the smug son of a bitch.

Strauss set the goblet aside, and leaned forward on his arms. "You want to say her name so badly, do you not? A name you've yearned to speak for decades and yet for all your courage and strong will, you have not the strength to utter her name. Relief is yours to be had, Mister Rodriguez… just tell me what I need to know."

Nines swallowed hard, straining to maintain his composure in face of Strauss' obvious goading. He tried to take it in stride, but his contempt for the man was just too damn powerful. His fingers dug into the velvet-clad arm of the sofa.

"Her name was Rosalynn," He flatly stated. "I need you to find out—"

"Let me guess," Strauss cut him off, setting the goblet aside. He rose to his feet and neatly clasped his hands behind his back, and wandered over to the fireplace before turning to face him. "From your visible struggle to keep yourself calm, it is not much of a leap to conclude that this Rosalynn woman was your… lover? Wife?"

Nines' fury was etched all over his face, and yet he somehow managed to stay calm, and nodded. "Wife."

"Ahh, I see… and I can guess further, that you last parted not on good terms?"

_How the hell does he know this_? "You could say that…"

Nines stared straight ahead, fearing that he would snap if he dared to look up and see Strauss' smirk.

"You want me to find out what became of your beloved wife?" Strauss guessed.

"Just… yeah, find out what happened to…" Nines trailed off. He couldn't even bring himself to say it, not that he suffered from any illusions as to what happened to them. Seventy years later, they were dead.

Strauss stared at him, studying the anarch leader with intense fascination. It was then that the realisation dawned on him, and he came around at sat down in front of him again, excitement blazing in his eyes.

"There's more…" He said. "Children?"

Nines shifted uncomfortably. "Child. Emily."

"Ahh… so the softer side of Nines Rodriguez is revealed…"

"Fuck you."

"How old were they when you parted from them for the last time?"

Strauss loved this. True, what Nines was telling him could be interpreted as weakness, something to be exploited. But he had no doubt that Nines weighed the risks. Not to mention, the man survived the execution of his sire and didn't weaken. It took a lot to break down Nines Rodriguez, and as Strauss sat before him, watching him, he suspected that not even this revelation could break him – even though memories of his wife and child clearly haunted him.

"Rosalynn was twenty-seven. Emily was six."

"I see… clearly it took a lot of courage for you to tell me any of this." Strauss remarked.

"Let's get one thing straight, Strauss… the Camarilla and Anarchs need each other to tear the heart out of those Kuei-Jin devils. I can't get this information anywhere else and this is the only way I'm gonna get it. As soon as the deal done, its game on and we're gonna oust the Camarilla again just like we did sixty years ago." Nines warned.

"I have no doubt as to your intentions, and we will deal with one problem at a time. Might I suggest you hold your snide remarks towards me for another time, lest you endanger yourself and your cause further?" Strauss fired back.

"Cards are on the table. Do we have a deal?"

Strauss didn't answer right away, instead toying with the man. He lingered in slow response, and sipped from the goblet.

"Indeed, we have an arrangement. As precarious as it is, we will hold up our end of the bargain and I will find you your requested information. Just tell your people to call off the attacks on the Camarilla."

"Fine."

The deal was set in place, one he knew his colleagues – and probably every other anarch in the city – would want to murder him for. But he saw the writings on the wall. Anarch forces were so depleted that he could not in good conscience send out them out again only to get decimated. Even with Ming-Xiao's death, the Kuei-Jin were still keen on making a run on the city and were vocal about it.

Nines got to his feet, as did Strauss. The two stared each other down, studying each other carefully for an ounce of deception.

"I'll talk to my people. They ain't gonna be happy about this," He said.

"Well you must convince them, or the deal is off as would be any sense of obligation I have to helping you seek out your family."

Nines nodded. "Consider it done."

"Good. Now, I'll have my two apprentices show you out."

"Forget it. I can find my own way out."

He refused Strauss' outstretched hand and made a hasty exit, leaving the Tremere regent to stare after him curiously. As Nines made his way through the winding hallways, he couldn't help but wonder if he had done the right thing. The Anarchs and Camarilla needed the alliance to get rid of the Kuei-Jin, but at what cost? Suddenly feeling like a sell-out, he dreaded going back to inform his colleagues...

**WITH ROSALYNN - 3 NIGHTS LATER**

The journey had been a long, and surprisingly uneventful, one. But three nights after leaving behind New York City, and managing to avoid detection, Rosalynn finally arrived in Los Angeles.

She started dully out the cab window as the buzzing neon lights of Hollywood zoomed by so fast that it looked only as one long nauseating stream of blurred light. Rosalynn had no doubt that she would soon be back. From what Alyssandra told her upon their quick rendezvous at Grand Central Station, Hollywood had long ago fallen to the Anarchs, under the rule of someone named Isaac – the supposed Baron of Hollywood. If she had to tear him and all of Hollywood to acquire the name of the Anarch leader and the whereabouts of the fledgling, Bella, then so be it.

Though on a whole, the anarch cause was one she barely concerned herself with, let alone want to actively engage in. They were a mere blip on her radar; a thorn in her side – a minor pain in her ass. The Kuei-Jin are the real threat. Only now with Ming-Xiao dead and a supposed anarch-aligned fledgling, who had somehow summoned enough power to kill her, now missing, Rosalynn realised a potential threat in the Los Angeles Anarchs. Taking Los Angeles and subsequently California would surely engage Anarchs in the surrounding states, mobilising them, which could very well then be as a virus and spread eastward. Rosalynn wasn't prepared to risk an uprising, not after everything she'd gone through to acquire ultimate power in New York – and especially with the Camarilla in such a depleted state as it was. No, she has to nip this situation in the bud and destroy any possible uprising herself, before it gains anymore momentum.

Rosalynn barely noticed when the cab left Hollywood and entered downtown Los Angeles, since all her thoughts were plagued with the nightmarish memories of leaving her beloved New York without a leader. She didn't even want to imagine what could happen if the rest of the Camarilla failed to defend it. As Prince, leaving the city at such a time probably wouldn't be remembered as her brightest moment, but it would damn sure be remembered as her bravest.

Rosalynn heaved a deep sigh and rested her head against the window. It wasn't fair. This whole immortality thing was highly overrated. To quell the beast within, one had to hold onto her humanity. But would the price paid be worth it, if having that humanity came with the condition of painful memories?

Rosalynn blinked and sat up straight when she felt the cab slowing. Her reawakened senses went into overdrive as she tried to get a compass on where she was. She gazed around. The cab rolled to a gentle stop outside a huge, brightly lit building. Curious, Rosalynn peered upwards through the window. The large red neon letters glowed brilliantly the name of the hotel – the Empire Arms Hotel – just as Lucas had arranged.

In her awestruck, Rosalynn hadn't noticed that the driver had already gotten out of the vehicle and made his way around to her side. She jumped slightly when her door opened, and the driver held his hand out to her. Hesitantly she glanced at his hand, and then at his face. His dark shades hid his face, but his gentle smile told her to trust him. Naturally, she didn't but reluctantly allowed him to assist her out of the cab. In their long journey they had spoken on few occasions, but when they had she had been caught off-guard by his strange accent.

"I shall get your belongings, ma'am…" The driver spoke, eerily monotone.

Rosalynn muttered a 'thank you', and watched him walk around to the trunk of the car. The driver proceeded to grab her small suitcase out of the trunk, and came around to her side.

"I shall bring these inside for you, ma'am," He offered.

"Thanks," she said again.

She started towards the main doors, but couldn't help but spare a fleeting glance around the dark street. Despite the illustrious grand-looking building, it was about the only clean-looking structure around. The streets were barren, dark, dirty, and void of any life save for a few bums trudging along the sidewalks – an exact reminder of the quality of life given to the nightlife of New York.

_Pathetic…_

She marched through the doors with the confidence of the most esteemed leader, quickly followed by the mysterious cab driver, carrying her few belongings.

Unlike the streets of Los Angeles, the lobby was impeccably clean and it was a refreshing change of scenery. No matter how beautiful or lively places could seem during daylight hours, it was during the night that the ugliness would rear its head and cast the city in a whole new light. Well, neon light, that is. Rosalynn gazed around until her eyes fell upon the clerk's desk, and started towards it and the attending employee stationed behind one of the two computer terminals.

She came up to the desk and cleared her throat in a way that would make any person crumble under her authority. The young man looked up from the computer monitor, and immediately offered her a courteous smile which faltered only slightly when he realised her ghostly complexion and mean glare.

"May I help you, madam?" He asked politely.

"I believe I have a room reserved for me," Rosalynn coldly stated, not bothering to return the politeness. She couldn't care less what kine thought of her. "My name is Rosalynn Rodriguez."

The words just tumbled freely from her mouth. She hadn't meant to say her last name. She rarely ever did, especially not in public. But then again, she hadn't been out of New York City since… well, ever. So she never before had to 'check in' anywhere, and if she had to – always with an alias. Everyone in that city, who needed to know her, knew her. Rosalynn silently admonished herself, but didn't let herself show her momentary lapse in judgment. Behind her, she didn't see the small smirk creep up on the face of her new cab driver acquaintance. From behind the dark sunglasses his eyes lit up, keenly interested.

Not that Rosalynn noticed. She glared at the man behind the desk, as he made a quick search of the hotel's databases.

"Ahh yes madam. Your room would've been the suite on the top floor, however due to an incident last night your room will be provided on the next floor below, floor six, at half price and with the extra security as you have requested."

"What happened to my room?" Rosalynn asked stone-faced, and her voice eerily monotone.

"Nothing that I can disclose, ma'am, I do apologise. Your bar-room privileges will also be free of charge as a result. On behalf of the Empire Arms Hotel, I extend a deep apology. We—!"

The employee let out a surprised yelp when Rosalynn's arm darted out and she grabbed a handful of material belonging to his jacket, yanking him halfway across the desk. Her intensely focused stare didn't flinch as she held him over the table, and the attendant was suddenly overcome with fear.

"Listen to me. I expected the best room when I arrived here, and upon leaving Manhattan I was guaranteed it. Now, between my departure from New York and my arrival here something must've happened and I demand to know what it is. Otherwise I'll take my business and money elsewhere and believe me when I say that I can make damn sure the economy of this entire hotel will collapse if I do so. I'll make it my personal quest. Now, once again, what happened to my room?"

The man glanced to the mysterious man in black standing just to Rosalynn's side, his eyes pleading for help but he received none. The cab driver's smile only widened, as though impressed by Rosalynn's actions. Rosalynn frowned, and shook him roughly to bring his attention back to her.

"Now!" She ordered, and threw him backwards with such force that he fell away from the desk until his back slammed against the opposing wall.

"Y-y-yes, ma'am," The man stammered nervously, suddenly becoming flustered. He smoothed out his jacket and cautiously approached. "Uhh… there… there was havoc up there, to be completely honest. Most who occupied the floor where killed after some random woman went up there and started shooting the place up. Police have the entire floor taped off."

Rosalynn's brows came together into a deeper frown. "A woman?"

Instantly a named flashed in her mind. _Bella_.

"Yes, ma'am. No one saw her. She kept her face shielded from security cameras on this ground floor, but there are none on the top two floors. Our more… wealthy… guests prefer the extra privacy. But one camera did capture a black-haired woman crossing the floor at the time the murders supposedly occurred. Anyway, like I said, the entire floor is a mess and completely inaccessible to anyone except law enforcement."

The man then lifted his arm up and held out a key chain with a key dangling from it.

"Your room key, ma'am."

Rosalynn snatched it from him, barely replying with a 'thank you' before turning around to the cab driver. "Thank you for your assistance. What do I owe you?"

"No, no, it was my pleasure to assist you, madam," The cab driver answered, and gave her a curt nod. "This one is off the meter."

A cab driver willing to _not_ accept payment…? Quirking a brow suspiciously, Rosalynn studied him for a few moments.

"Why?" she asked.

"I insist," The driver added, and then reached into his pocket. "But please, take this…"

He held his hand out to her. Rosalynn glanced down, and saw he was holding out a card to her. She took it, and read that it only contained a phone number.

"What's this?"

"If there is anywhere you need to be during your time here, please call this number and I will come for you. Free of charge, of course."

While she could always appreciated a kind gift, since there were few times she received one, she couldn't help but be cautious to this mysterious man. Were all Californians this freaky? Granted, this guy was a foreigner, but perhaps the California air had diseased his brain or something. Oh how she longed to be on the east coast again. At least there everyone was straight-up, no-bullshit and blunt. Reluctantly she shoved the questions into the back of her mind, and nodded.

"I will. Thank you," she replied, tucking the card into the pocket of her jeans.

"Do you need assistance with your bags, ma'am?" The desk clerk offered, and she looked over her shoulder.

"No, I can handle it from here," she said.

The clerk nodded and wisely kept his mouth shut, resuming his work. When Rosalynn turned back to speak to the driver, she gasped and jumped slightly in shock. He was gone.

_God damn it!_

Shaking her mind free of the distraction, she picked up her belongings and headed for the elevator. She pushed the button and waited impatiently for the doors to open. While she waited, she took a moment to gaze around the virtually empty lobby. Suddenly, she felt alone again. It had been so long since she felt alone… nearly seventy years, in fact.

The elevator bell snapped her out of her thoughts, and the doors parted. Rosalynn quickly got in and pushed the button for the fifth floor, eager to get away for the rest of the night and for the next day. She needed to recover from the travels, before embarking on any sort of quest. Los Angeles was in havoc right now… and right now, she didn't want to know about it.

**Note: More coming soon **


	6. Chapter 6

**CHAPTER SIX**

**SUMMARY: Nines realises his mistake in dealing with the Camarilla, as Rosalynn has her first encounter with Strauss - and fails to realise the danger she is in.**

**

* * *

**

"Man, I _still_ can't believe you dealt with those cammy assholes!" Damsel complained, and slumped down on the chair. "Fuck, Nines you aren't just goin' soft – you're melting!"

Nines ignored her pouting, and tried to block out her annoying complaining but nothing worked. For days he had copped shit from his colleagues, and was berated by Jack for dealing with the Camarilla.

"_Enough!" He had snapped at them, fed up of the bitching and whining from all of them. "Get over it, it's done. Right now the Anarchs are in trouble. The Kuei-Jin are about to move and right now we haven't got a choice here. We either go it alone and get slaughtered, or hook up with the Camarilla to take out those devils. If anyone's got a better idea, let's hear it now."_

"_No damn point now since you went and basically sold us out!" Skelter replied._

"_I'm just wonderin' what the hell you were thinkin' in bargaining with a fuckin' Tremere," Jack spoke up from the stool he sat on, in the corner._

"_The Camarilla didn't screw us over and slaughter us when they had the chance. Right now we got no other choice. Apart from Hollywood, we haven't got a stronghold anywhere else in this city. The Camarilla hasn't got any hope in this city thanks to Bella, meaning that they gotta play ball with us. This arrangement means they can't start anything up with us while the Kuei-Jin is around."_

He wasn't interested in their objections. As far as he was concerned, this alliance with the Camarilla was coming at a heavy price – compromising the security of the anarch movement, and his personal integrity. He didn't care. Nines didn't want anything to do with the Camarilla, but he figured it was an opportunity to settle some personal demons as well. As much as Strauss was a Tremere, and Camarilla asshole, the man did usually honour his word unless there was a direct threat to his clan or his organisation. Without Lacroix around, Nines had no doubt that Strauss would ascend to the top of the Camarilla movement.

"We ain't got a choice right now. Strauss will hold his word. The Camarilla is weak; shaken to its core now Lacroix is gone. The fact that a fledgling took him out has sent a loud, clear message ringing through their ears. I'm betting they heard that explosion all the way east," Nines assured them, and stood up from the bar stool.

"It was Lacroix's deal. What makes you think Strauss wants any part of it?" Skelter asked, his scepticism unwavering.

"Lacroix was a prick but he wasn't stupid. Strauss sees the writing on the wall. The Kuei-Jin movement doesn't stop with Ming-Xiao's death, and with the Sabbat crippled right now there's a small window of opportunity to take out the biggest problem."

Three pairs of accusing eyes did nothing to dissuade him. Nines ignored all of them and headed up the stairs. He needed to get away from them all. Maybe it was the events of recent nights that had him shaking, he didn't know, but the ironic thing was that none of it felt any easier since Lacroix's death. Nothing had changed really, except for maybe a few more nervous Camarilla assholes.

Nines trudged up the stairs until he reached the second floor, and he stopped and gazed around at the empty place. Broken bottles lay strewn shards across the floor that was stained in unpleasant coatings of blood and vomit. The windows were dirty, and had remained unwashed for what looked like decades. This was their Elysium. Charming, right?

_I need a fucking vacation_, Nines mused quietly as he wandered across the room. He made his way to the window, and gazed out across the vacant street, which was no cleaner than this very room. His eyes, wrought with concern, took in the disgusting state the streets of Los Angeles had become. Filthy degradation is what the streets and its lost souls had become. Not that anyone had noticed the slow descent into hell on earth. It was so gradual in its morphing, that months had graduated to years and years to decades before anyone finally realised the horrors of it all. It caught them all off-guard.

Nines came up to the window, sadly gazing out. He rested his forehead to the glass, and his eyes slid shut, not wanting to see anymore of it. The cruelness of it was, that the moment his eyes opened again he would be greeted with the same disgusting conditions. There was no break from any of it.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, when he was suddenly jolted from his thoughts as footsteps came thundering up the stairs. Nines opened his eyes and turned, just in time to see Skelter rushing up.

"Nines, man, you gotta come down…" He said; his voice animated with urgency. "Somethin's happenin'. Some shit has just arrived in town and I think it's gonna blow your whole fucking deal with those Camarilla sons of bitches out of the water."

"You gotta be kiddin'…" Nines growled, and stormed over to him. "What is it now?"

Skelter hesitated, and Nines was close enough to see the uncertainty flicker through his eyes.

"Trust me… this is somethin' you gotta hear for yourself."

He then turned and hurried back down the stairs, with Nines following close behind. When they reached the bottom, he halted in his tracks when he saw across the other of the bar, a young kid – probably a fledgling – bleeding from his head and on his knees, breathless with wildness raging in his eyes. At his sides, Damsel and Jack were holding him up by his arms, stopping from falling flat on his stomach.

"What the hell is going on here?" Nines demanded. "Who is this?"

"A Camarilla whelp. Poor kid got dragged in to do Lacroix's dirty bidding just before Bella showed up." Jack explained with a laugh, and lightly dug a boot into the fledgling's side.

"That explains the bleeding…" Nines commented, and looked to Damsel. She shrugged nonchalantly.

"Hey, I see Camarilla and I get a sudden urge to kick their ass," She defended herself.

"Now, now boy… you go ahead and tell him what you just told us," Jack instructed the young vampire.

The boy struggled to regain his bearings after suffering a brutal bashing at the hands of that psycho red-haired chick. Damn, it hurt. Then again, having your head smashed against the wall several times before being thrown down and stomped on just as many times, would hurt.

"I… can't…" he spluttered in between deep gasps of air.

"Oh really? Well then maybe my fist down your throat will loosen your tonsils!" Damsel growled, shaking her fist in front of him.

"NO! P-p-please!" The boy protested; desperation clearly evident in his voice.

"What do you know?" Nines asked him.

Overall he preferred not to intimidate fledglings, even Camarillas, as more often than not they didn't know any better. The boy trembled. The poor kid – he's been frightened so badly. Staring at him, Nines couldn't help but feel a little sorry for the boy, who was in way over his head. He knelt down in front of him.

"Kid? What do you have to say…?"

"I… can't…" The boy paused as he erupted into a coughing fit. After he calmed down, he barely managed to lift his head to look at him. "… Can't disobey… sire…"

"Kid, look, if you don't talk to us then we'll kill you faster than your sire can. So talk now, or you're gonna get put down."

"Okay, okay! J-j-just d-don't hurt me…"

"SPEAK!" Damsel roared, and jerked his arm roughly.

"I... my chantry… I overheard plans…"

"What plans?" Nines prompted.

"Master Strauss had arranged arrival for someone important to the Camarilla. She's just arrived at the Empire Arms Hotel… the New York Prince. Apparently she's here to um… help the Camarilla reclaim control of L.A…"

"What?"

Nines glared at him in disbelief. He couldn't believe it. That backstabbing son-of-a-bitch Strauss had reneged on their deal? Oh that asshole will pay for this. Granted, Nines' figured his own mental demons probably clouded his judgment enough to even go over there hoping to score some sort of uneasy truce. But this? He knew better than to trust anyone associated with the Camarilla, and was probably even more foolish to think they'd honour a deal to get rid of the Kuei-Jin.

"Shit!" Nines slammed his hands on the bar so hard, the entire structure trembled.

"I TOLD you Nines!" Damsel glared at him with contempt. "What the fuck were you thinking, going after them for a deal?"

"There ain't no way to be trusting a Camarilla who's also a Tremere!" Skelter chimed in.

Nines turned away from them, pinching the bridge of his nose as he fought off a headache. His head hurt just from their damn voices. How could he have been so stupid? In his one moment of weakness; his one moment when he allowed himself to remember what exactly he was holding onto his humanity for… he had gone and potentially devastated the Anarchs' last stand against the Camarilla, Kuei-Jin and Sabbat.

Dejected, he returned to the stairs and slumped down, dropping his head in his hands.

_Why me? _

Ousting Lacroix was supposed to give the Anarchs breathing room to actually make a run on hauling California away from the brink of complete Camarilla control. Now, they were all realising that things had taken a drastic turn for the worse. Whoever this New York Prince was, there was one thing they could all be certain of – she'd be bringing whatever emotional baggage she had from New York with her. The Camarilla was decimated over there, meaning she'll be unleashing her rage here.

"Hey kiddos, quit jumpin' on Nines' back for a few seconds. Let the man think," Jack casually spoke up.

He roughly released the boy's arm, eliciting an anguished howl from the fledgling, and strolled over to Nines.

"You a'right, Nines?" Jack asked.

"I fucked up…" Nines answered, his face still buried in his hands.

Jack stared at him thoughtfully. It occurred to him that Nines wasn't stupid enough to make such a reckless mistake on his own; there has to be something deeper… something tearing him up. Nearly seven decades of fighting the Camarilla meant the man was probably more untrusting of them than anyone, and would never stoop down to their level. Making arrangements for a tense alliance was one thing – circumstances being as they are meant that sometimes one's hand was force to shake the hands of those you are otherwise disgusted by. Nines faced a devastatingly difficult decision. But there was something else going on… something underneath the surface. Nines knew of the New York Prince and the volatile situation the east-coast Anarchs faced. He knew the Camarilla would work frantically to resolve the New York _and _Los Angeles problems, and were fond of using the 'killing-two-birds-with-one-stone' method.

Jack glanced over his shoulder. Skelter and Damsel were distracted by the young vampire who had now erupted into a fit of violent coughing and vomiting blood. Good. It'll give him a chance to figure out what's going on with Nines.

"Nines… come on, man. What the hell is up with you?"

Nines looked up.

"There's gotta be a way out of this," He said, glancing to the exhausted fledgling. "I gotta make this right."

Jack shifted his gaze to the Camarilla boy, and then looked to Nines again. "Nines, man, hey it probably ain't the best idea to be makin' any sort of plans right now. You're wasted, brother."

Ain't that the truth. Days of stress and not much sleep and deteriorated his mental state to the point where the man was barely able to hold himself upright. Nines shook his head sadly and ran a hand over his face.

"Man, I… I'm sorry," He murmured, so only Jack could hear him.

Jack waved him off dismissively. "Ahh man, don't gimme that crap. So you made a mistake, big deal. We've all been there."

While he could appreciate Jack's support, nothing he could say made it any easier. Nines, slumped down on a chair and sighed. The decades of fighting and leading a cause, as noble as it was, had taken a heavy toll on him.

"I just dunno what I'm gonna do…" He lamented. "Strauss knew the deal. I told him that if he reneges, then we'll crush 'em."

Jack mustered a sympathetic smile for his friend, and slapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Hard to do when we got nothing," Nines added. "_I_ got nothin', Jack. It was an empty threat."

"There's no way that he'd know that," Jack pointed out.

"No shit. Especially since Bella screwed them over worse than us."

"And Strauss knew that we're in a better position to fuck them over right now."

"Yeah…"

Jack pulled up a stool beside Nines, and pondered the thought further. "So, if that's the case – if he knew that Bella chick was helpin' us out, and the Camarilla are as fucked up as they are right now… then my guess is that Strauss would never enter a deal with us unless he needed to. And he'd never screw us over unless he knew we haven't got any leverage. Which he doesn't."

Nines raised his head, the self-pity vanishing from his eyes and a new focus settled across his features. "So he'd never go against the deal like that… you're saying he didn't know this Prince was comin' to town. Or that he wasn't expecting it."

"Bingo." Jack agreed, nodding. "It makes sense, kid. Strauss plays the game better than anybody, so I'm guessin' he knows somethin' is going on with this Prince-chick that he can play us with. Other than that, I doubt he's got much else."

It was an interesting thought. Strauss is one of those Camarilla assholes, but this wasn't the first time he had brokered an alliance, albeit a tense one, between the Anarchs and Camarilla. He's no fool, especially when it comes to Nines Rodriguez. The Brujah was more respected amongst the Anarchs than any other leader of previous generations. Most importantly, Strauss knew that there was still a hell of a lot of fight left in the Los Angeles Anarch movement that would make damn sure he couldn't go back on his word.

"So you're saying I should find out more about this Prince before I go back to that Chantry and shove a stake up that son of a bitch's ass?"

"Couldn't hurt." Jack shrugged.

Jack then left him alone, returning to the others to make sure they left him alone as well.

There was always a fine line between holding on to one's humanity, and letting it cloud your judgment to the point where you risked everything you cared about. Such was the dilemma Nines Rodriguez faced now. Being in charge of a movement, a position he never signed up for, had drawn out of him the will to hold onto that humanity, but it was haunting past that made it worthwhile to do so.

Pressing his hands to the sides of his head, Nines stared down to his lap and searched the furthest reaches of his mind for a hint of strength. He and Strauss had arranged to meet again, this time on Anarch turf instead of the Camarilla-held downtown area of Los Angeles. This time they'd meet at a restaurant in Hollywood, a meeting which Isaac had guaranteed to ensure privacy and security. Nines warned Strauss that he had no choice but to agree too these terms, or else risk losing the Anarchs as an ally to fight the Kuei-Jin. After all, it is universally known among kindred that the Kuei-Jin will sooner launch against the Camarilla than against the Anarchs, especially after Lacroix's betrayal of the much-revered Ming Xiao. And Maximillian Strauss is no fool.

**Meanwhile, with Strauss**

He read the report for the tenth time, as though there could've been a change from the last time he read it. But sure enough, the words were exactly the same as they were the first time he read it. A smirk appeared on his face, delighted by the revelations which confirmed his suspicions the moment he received the request to play host to the New York Prince. It hadn't been hard to get – one call to a high-ranking Camarilla loyalist in New York and the records were faxed over an hour later. The information though was old. Nearly seventy year old records aren't the easiest things in the world to obtain, but at least in this case there had been minimal trouble.

"Sire? What is it?" The young apprentice's voice broke through his thoughts, and Straus lifted his gaze to the young vampire standing nervously in front of him.

He closed the folder and set it aside, before rising to his feet and taking up both the vampire's shoulders, shaking him gently. His smile broadened into a full grin and his eyes glistened behind his round spectacles.

"Childe, tonight we have all the ammunition we need to see to it that the Anarchs never lift a sword to the Camarilla again."

**With Rosalynn – One night later**

She waited impatiently on the sofa, drumming her fingers on her knee and stared into the flames. The subordinate claimed he was going to inform 'Master Strauss' of her presence, but that was nearly twenty minutes ago. Rosalynn was never accustomed to being made to wait, especially since she hadn't left New York in a long time.

Dressed in a simple v-cut black dress that came to just above her knees, and black boots that ascended halfway up her calves, she donned a leather jacket over the top. Her hair had been piled into a tight bun atop her head, and simple makeup defined her otherwise sickly pale features. After tonight's proceedings, she fully intended of making her night worthwhile – starting with a visit to the surroundings clubs. As long as she's here, she might as well enjoy herself.

The New York Prince struggled to subdue her growing frustration, and her other hand tightly gripped the arm of the sofa. Her gaze then fell to the table that separated the two sofas, and the goblet of untouched blood that sat in front of her. She preferred her blood to be fresh and warm but would take anything if available. Tonight, she just wasn't that hungry. Inner beast, be damned.

The doors opened, and Rosalynn got to her feet as Maximillian Strauss came striding in. Two servants then pulled the doors shut behind him, and he came straight over to her, extending a hand.

"Miss… Rosalynn, am I correct?" Strauss greeted her, remembering the advice from the Alyssandra Tudor, that Rosalynn did not like to be addressed any other way than by her first name.

Rosalynn nodded solemnly, accepting the handshake. "Yes. Maximillian Strauss, I assume?"

"You are correct. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss. I've heard nothing but positive things through the Camarilla grapevine."

Her reputation as a strong leader and loyalty to the Camarilla made her resume more than impressive in Strauss' eyes. Rosalynn nodded, accepting his praise and returned a friendly smile.

"Thank you, as I have with you. The Camarilla's goals need to be stressed now more than ever, all across the country."

"I most certainly agree," Strauss gestured for her to return to her seat, and she did, while he settled himself on the opposing sofa much like he did with Nines Rodriquez. "Times of uncertainty are upon both of our territories."

"Yes, so I hear. I do sympathise with your efforts," Rosalynn agreed, monotone in her voice. She still didn't trust this man. "I hear the Camarilla here have been given quiet the challenge."

"Indeed. I'm afraid we have been assaulted from all sides. Thankfully the Sabbat have been dealt with for now, so they shouldn't present themselves as a problem for a good long while. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for the Kuei-Jin or the Anarchs."

"I understand."

"Yes, I'm sure you do. I have heard of the devastation in New York. Please know that if there's anything that we can do, I shall try to spare some assistance for you."

It was a kind offer, and one she had been expecting if things were to remain as cordial as they are now. Rosalynn bowed her head slightly. "Thank you, Mister Strauss."

"Please, call me Max."

"Thank you, Max."

Strauss studied her; carefully maintain a mask of indifference that hid what he truly knew. He knew she regarded him suspiciously, and so made the effort to not let her know what he knew. He dragged a curious gaze from her shoes to her head, and couldn't help but imagine her beauty in life - given her alluring beauty in death. She seemed to know it too, and exuberated an air of confidence that was worked as a spell. No wonder her husband was still enamoured with her, more than seventy years after they parted. Looking over the woman in front of him, Strauss could only imagine Nines Rodriguez's reaction to realising that the woman he refused to let go of for the sake of his humanity, was in fact still alive – so to speak.

Rosalynn hooked a leg over the other, and leaned against the back of the sofa, draping an arm across the back of it. All the while her cold stare never left him.

"I understand that things have been most difficult for you here, what with LaCroix's death and all," She continued.

Strauss chuckled airily, followed by a heavy sigh. "Yes, it's been most difficult. Though I have to admit, I shan't be missing Sebastian."

Rosalynn snorted. "I don't think anyone else will be, either. Trust me, we all knew what an asshole he was even back east."

Sebastian LaCroix was a talking point, an icebreaker, for many Camarilla members when meeting for the first time – and it was the universal hatred of the man that often forged new acquaintances.

"So, Rosalynn, tell me about yourself…"

That was something she didn't see coming. Taken aback by the question, Rosalynn blinked and looked away. A look of puzzlement over took her features, and she tried to work out the best way to answer him.

"Uhh… I don't know what you want me to tell you," Rosalynn answered, lightly chuckling.

Strauss shrugged, deciding to play this out as long as he could. "Your time as Prince. Your mortal life. If we are to work together, I would hope we could get to know each other a bit more, that is all."

Thankfully for him, his tone was such a way that it convinced her that he wasn't trying to hit on her.

"Umm, okay… well, I grew up in New Jersey but I've spent my entire unlife in New York. I came to assume power when I defeated Jordan Malovski in 1978. I've managed to actually keep control of the city for the past thirty years that is until those Sabbat assholes decided to cause trouble. Now I'm looked to be weak and half my team is decimated."

Rosalynn trailed off, the words leaving a bitter taste in her mouth when she reflected on the last week's events. Uncrossing her legs, she got to her feet and wandered over to the fireplace, allowing herself to become distracted by the leaping flames. She forced herself to blink away the memories of learning about her loyal security team members being turned to ash. These were the same kindred who had been with her since the night she took over New York. Now, they're gone.

Strauss stayed where he was, though his eyes followed her curiously. Something about this Prince stirred his interest, and he could tell already that she placed her loyalties to the Camarilla above her own self-interests. It was tempting him, to tell her of what she was so obviously keen to know. He had been informed by Alyssandra of Rosalynn's desire to know the Anarch leader of the L.A. movement, and now knowing what he learned through the reports from New York he couldn't help but wonder if this was no coincidence. Fate played a huge role in vampire existence, and perhaps this time, it was unfolding to the Camarilla's advantage.

Rosalynn turned around, and looked over to the Tremere Regent. She still had many reservations because of the clan he belonged to, but she had to take Lucas' word for it that he was strongly loyal to the Camarilla agenda. If he is, then he will help her.

Strauss tilted his chin upwards to her. "May I ask why you've never left New York until now?"

Rosalynn inhaled sharply at the question, and quickly turned from him again and grabbed a hold of the mantle above the fireplace when her knees grow weak. Yes, she knew the reason and no she did not want to say.

"I never felt comfortable leaving the city. It became my haven." Was her short, simple reply, but her answer stirred more questions in his mind.

A haven for what, he wondered. Clearly, she fled to the city to escape something, and he silently speculated as to what that was. "A haven for what, Rosalynn?"

"It doesn't matter. Some memories are best left to the past."

She rarely thought of her time as a mortal, anymore. It was too painful to rehash all that pain that came with losing her life, that her immortal life was no more satisfying than her mortal one - at least not with the ghosts of her past still haunting her.

Strauss watched on. He didn't like the idea of manipulating a fellow Camarilla in order to regain control of the city, since he always prided his reputation as being the _opposite_ to LaCroix. But Rodriguez had been right when he said that the Camarilla were in a worse shape than the Anarchs, and for that reason he would stick to the deal he and Rodriguez made that night. But he also knew the man, and that Nines would have no problem turning on the deal with the Camarilla should the occasion call for it, which is why he needs Rosalynn now. When he realised that she in fact was the long-missed wife of Nines Rodriguez, just as he received a request from New York to meet with her – he figured it was the Fates way of telling him that this opportunity belonged to the Camarilla. For that, he'd gladly accept the fact that Rosalynn Rodriguez may very well become a sacrifice.

"Forgive me for saying, Rosalynn, but you look troubled."

Looking over her shoulder to him, Rosalynn weakly smiled. "Just not used to talking of my past that much. There seems to be no point to the endeavour."

Especially with a Tremere kindred, she wasn't about to let herself become vulnerable by telling him her life story.

Strauss offered her a curt nod, and decided not to press the issue. "That is quite understandable. Forgive me if bringing it up has caused you unnecessary hardship."

"Forget it. It happens," Rosalynn shrugged, and made her way back to the sofa. She flopped down across from him, and finally decided to give in to the temptation offered by the cup of blood on the table. She reached for it, and brought it to her lips.

Strauss nodded, and waited for her to finish downing the blood. She set the goblet on the table again, and licked the smear of blood she felt tickle the corners of her mouth.

"So," Strauss sat up straight. "I was told that you've come to Los Angeles to seek out the fledgling that killed LaCroix."

"Yes."

"Also to converse with the Anarch leader?"

A knowing smirk played across her face. "Not just 'converse', I assure you."

"If you're talking about killing him, I strongly advise against it," Strauss cautiously warned her. "Not with the precarious situation we have now, in the wake of LaCroix's destruction. Let me just say, that this leader is well loved amongst the Anarch kindred, and the Anarchs are in a better position to dictate terms at this time…"

Her smile vanished, and her brows shot up curiously. "What makes you say that?"

When Strauss looked away, refusing to answer, the realisation dawned on Rosalynn. Her eyes widened.

"You're in bed with them? You made a fucking alliance with the Anarchs?"

"We had no choice!" Strauss calmly defended himself. "Things are unclear at this moment, and the Kuei-Jin are ready to move on Los Angeles, and if they take this city then California will fall. With the Sabbat out of the way, and the fledgling having disappeared, the Camarilla has agreed to enter into an alliance with the Anarchs only for the purpose of ridding L.A. of the Kuei-Jin for good."

Keeping amazingly calm, underneath her skin Rosalynn was boiling with rage. Narrowing her eyes at him, she fought to hold back vicious words that were aching for release on the tip of her tongue. How dare this kindred enter the Camarilla into an alliance with the Anarchs? Granted, it wouldn't be the first time such an alliance had happened, but still – the Anarchs?

"So what do you propose I do? Invite him over for tea?" Rosalynn sardonically replied.

"I do not know, Miss Rosalynn. You requested to meet me, so I should be the one asking what your intentions are."

"I just want to know more about him. If I can find him, I can guarantee you that I'll discern the location of the fledgling." A promise even she wasn't even convinced by, but Rosalynn's determination never left her eyes.

Strauss chuckled and shook his head amusedly, not knowing quite what to make of this headstrong Prince. She seemed to be playing right by the Camarilla's agenda, and because of that he liked her. Knowing what he knew about who she was, he held back from revealing all to her. From what it seemed like, and what he learned from Nines, she appeared to be as haunted by whatever went on between them as he was.

"You know him, Max. I can feel it. Please, don't lie to me." Rosalynn snapped him from his silent musings.

"I would never dream of it, Rosalynn."

He rose with regal calmness to his feet, and wandered over to the fireplace, savouring the silence for what it was worth. Rosalynn's determined gaze remained fixated on him, and she sat tensely upon the sofa, gripping the side of it with an iron fist.

"Strauss, speak of him. What do you know?"

Her tone was cold and demanding, Strauss realised, belonging only to a Prince who had not only seen many wars but who had _earned_ her place amongst the elite of the Camarilla. Pausing a moment to collect a worthy answer, he then turned around and levelled a piercing, unintimidated glare at her.

"He is strong. Stronger than any leader of the Anarchs I have come across before, and he certainly poses a powerful threat, although I believe he would've made an even more powerful ally." He bluntly stated, recognising this woman's lack of need to be sugar coated.

Rosalynn's expression was unreadable, and she returned the intense stare. "Interesting. And…?"

"I believe… you and he would find each other most intriguing."

"Strauss I plan on killing him, not partying with him," Rosalynn remarked upon a bored yawn, clearly disinterested with what she was hearing so far. "That is, after I beat out of him the location of the fledgling."

"Know this, Rosalynn – this man is no ordinary leader of the Anarchs, he is by far the only one in recent memory to create such energy among the rabble. He has the loyalty of the kindred mob, and because of him more kindred are turning their allegiances to the Anarchs. He will not be so easy to dispose of, so I suggest you manage your ego to accommodate that fact."

Rosalynn wondered why he was concealing the identity of the man they _both_ wanted to be rid of. In a way, it was almost like he was protecting him from her.

"What's his name?"

For the first time that night she saw discomfort settle on Strauss' face. He was clearly contemplating whether or not to tell her, and that only made her more curious. Perhaps his answer was something she won't like to hear. Rising to her feet, she followed him to the fireplace.

"Max… if you wish my assistance here and likewise if I am to entrust my city with yours… you must tell me what I need to know. Why are you hesitating to tell me his name?"

"Because, Miss Rosalynn…" Strauss paused to carefully ponder his next works. "It is not for me to tell you. This is a journey that fate has determined for you to take on your own."

Rosalynn frowned, not understanding his cryptic words. "What are you saying? That I was somehow _destined_ to come here?"

"What I am telling you, is that if you want to ensure your own safety, that you learn for yourself just who you are dealing with. I could tell you all you need to know for now… or you can go to The Last Round, converse with the Anarchs, and find out for yourself exactly why you are here."

Ah yes, The Last Round. At least there she'd be able to find out this Skelter person and twist his arm for information. Well, she'd like to. Too bad the placeis an Elysium, so unfortunately – as much as she detested the notion, she'd have to remain civil amongst the Anarchs.

"And there I will find this Anarch leader?" She guessed, wondering why all this mystery was being kept around this person.

Strauss shrugged with a nonchalance that concealed his inner excitement. "Perhaps. I would not count on it though. True, most of the time one could locate him there but because of these recent happenings in Los Angeles, he has been in and out of hiding. But I spoke with him recently. Right here, in fact. So I assume he is still close, but just be prepared if he is not. The man, as powerful of an ally as he could've been, chose to surround himself with hot-headed fools who command disdain for the Camarilla, _especially_ Princes'. They will probably be there to greet you in their own _unique_ way. But I am sure you can handle them. It is an Elysium, after all."

"Who are they?" Rosalynn wondered.

"There is an ex-Vietnam veteran, by the name of Skelter. Very knowledgeable, but he has a short temper. And then there is the highly aggressive young woman, Damsel. She gives a lot of talk but is usually kept under control. That is, until she meets _you_ of course…" Strauss paused and chuckled, remembering his highly volatile encounters with the fiery redhead. "And then there is the infamous Jack. If my memory serves me well, he is commonly known to the mob as _Smilin'_ Jack."

"Smilin' Jack? I know that name…" Rosalynn interrupted, frowning thoughtfully.

"Indeed you may have. Though not officially aligned, he spends his time with and supports the Anarch movement. Generally he stays out of politics."

Rosalynn's widened as the realisation dawned on her. "That former pirate? I've heard many anarchs back east speak his name. Most of them are completely awestruck by him."

"The one in the same. He's close to the leader of the Anarch movement here. He has a great influence on him. But be cautious if you insist on going there alone, because even I have not encountered a kindred as strong as he. He is dangerous – but he knows how this world is. He will give you attitude, but not much else. He is in the advantageous position where, more often than not, he does not need to fight out his differences with someone – even with the Camarilla."

Rosalynn nodded, still trying to wrap her mind around the fact that this was the same kindred she had heard so much about during her dealings with Anarchs back home. Massaging her temple, she sighed wearily and closed her eyes.

"Why do I get the feeling that I'm being played?"

Strauss mustered a sympathetic smile. "I assure you, Miss Rosalynn, if you are being played… it is not by us. Just be careful."

That's a damn lie, she thought, but said nothing. And though she didn't know it yet, she was right. Maximillian Strauss knew exactly what she was walking into – or rather, _who_ she was walking into. He knew the truth. In fact, he was counting on the two star-crossed lovers to reunite. Even if it came at the unfortunate sacrifice of one of his own Camarilla comrades, Strauss knew she was one that had to be made in order to ensure the stability and security of the Camarilla.

Rosalynn merely nodded, deciding not to argue the point. She had the distinct feeling that she was being played by everyone, including this pompous ass.

"Whatever. At The Last Round… if he's not there, then whoever is there will know where he is?"

Strauss responded with a single nod. That was all she needed. Figuring there was no more time to waste, Rosalynn rose up. Strauss followed suit and quickly extended a hand to her. Reluctantly, she accepted the gesture and shook his hand.

"If there's anything you need… do not hesitate to call. The Anarchs can not be trusted."

"_That_ I know. But I'm not the one who entered into an unholy alliance with them."

"That is not out of trust, only necessity."

"So you believe. Doesn't mean I have to. Nevertheless, do not fear for me, Max. I'm sure the Anarchs here are no different to those back home."

Rosalynn forced a confident smile, and didn't speak of the uncertainty that lingered in her unbeating heart. Actually, she was damn scared. Here, alone in a strange city, without the backup of the limited kindred she could trust and with her entire security system turned to ash, she knew better than to trust even the likes of Max. The Tremere clan were a secretive group that knew too much and shared too little. It was the inherent nature of their blood strain.

Wearily smoothing a hand over her hair, she needed a moment to think what to do. The Anarchs were suspicious bastards, no matter whether they were on the west or east coast. And she was going there alone. At least back home she knew who the anarchs were. She has to find the leader of the movement to discern the location of the fledgling. With the Camarilla in LA currently running low on manpower and supplies, she knew the odds of having help even from the local Camarilla affiliates. But it had to be done to prevent the potential uprising from moving east – as well as give her a reason to be out of the dangerous situation in New York. Granted, she was trading one dangerous city for another, but if she had stayed in New York, then she was pretty sure she'd also be a pile of ash at this moment.

"Miss Rosalynn?"

Strauss' coolly arrogant voice cut like a razor blade through her thoughts, drawing her back to reality. Rosalynn looked up.

"Hmm?"

"Are you sure you'll be alright? I could send some of my colleagues along with you. It's not safe for a lone Camarilla member to be travelling these streets. I strongly advise you to take along some assistance," Strauss suggested, raising a concerned brow at her.

Rosalynn forced another reassuring smile. "Thank you, Max. But I shall be fine. From all that I've gathered, the Anarchs seem to be lying dormant for now. Until the dust settles, I guess. I'll be fine."

Unconvinced, Strauss paused to regard her with uncertainty. But realising he couldn't convince her otherwise, he nodded. "Very well. I shall escort you to the door…"

Rosalynn waved a hand dismissively. "Again, thank you. But I can see myself out. Take care, Max."

She bowed respectfully, to which he returned the gesture before standing aside to let her leave.

"You as well, Miss Rosalynn."

Strauss watched her leave, his thoughtful gaze not leaving the doors as they shut. This woman is a strange one, butone that was trustworthy. She seemed passionate for the Camarilla cause, and for that he'd make sure she'd stay alive for now. But he had not the time to ponder her further, since in half an hour he is scheduled to meet the other half of this twisted tale. Time to prepare for a trip to Hollywood.

**With Rosalynn…**

She stepped onto the sidewalk as the doors to the Chantry slammed behind her, almost with a sense of finality. Something was off about that Strauss fellow, but nothing she could worry about now. Rosalynn lingered on the spot for a moment, gazing around carefully. Nothing in the air she tasted, as disgusting as that taste was, suggested that danger was near. Thank God. It's not that she couldn't take whatever was lurking out there, she just wasn't in the mood. Focusing all her energies on what she had to do, her eyes fell to the street across from her. Apparently, following it would lead to The Last Round.

Despite her reservations, she finally started down the street – not knowing what lay in store for her.

It wasn't hard to find her way through the streets to The Last Round. Only minutes after leaving the Chantry, Rosalynn came up on the closed door of the seedy bar. The depressing sight of the dismal place made her grimace.

"Great. Just great," she sarcastically mused to herself, surveying the utterly classless bar with disgust.

Goddamn anarchs. Wallowing in the depressing vices of their mortal lives only made them more pitiful in her mind. Rosalynn approached the door, hesitating a moment. She regarded the doorknob with uncertainty, as though it could somehow infect her.

So engrossed was she with her 'dilemma', that Rosalynn didn't even notice the slow approach of a shadowed figure, hidden beyond the reach of the streetlight. Something definitely didn't feel right. It was like something was clouding her thoughts with ghosts of her past. Strauss had touched on a sensitive topic tonight, and though he couldn't possibly know it, he had hit a very tender nerve. _What's happening to _me? Rosalynn shook her head, but the confusion didn't leave her. It was unusual for to be this unfocused. Her lack of concentration would've amazed her, especially since she didn't notice the lead pipe swing towards her head. Rosalynn did not even feel the crack to her head, as she crumpled to the ground. The last thing she heard was insane cackling laughter, followed by the gravelly voice that struck her from the shadows…

"Fe, fi, fo, fum… I smell the blood of new Camarilla _scum_!"

* * *

**Note: I know this isn't my best written chapter, but I'll fix it soon :) More coming soon. Rosalynn has her first experience of the LA anarchs, and a confrontation with Jack.**


	7. Chapter 7

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**SUMMARY: Okay, so Nines asking Strauss for help is a real 'WTF?' moment... but is there a method to his madness? Nines and Strauss meet again – will the fragile alliance survive? Rosalynn has an undignified first meeting with the Anarchs. **

* * *

The air had a distinct unsettled taste to it. A storm was brewing, though how far off it was he didn't know. The drive to Hollywood was uneventful, but his thoughts were heavy. He was losing control of things and if he lost his composure, everyone would know it. He already suspected that Strauss knew things he wasn't sharing, and that bugged the hell out of him. At least tonight he'd get a chance to _force_ his new colleague to confess what he so obviously wanted to say, but as always that sneaky Tremere wanted to do things in secret.

Earlier that night, Isaac assured him of security for the meeting with Strauss, although he was less than enthusiastic for Strauss' visit to his domain. Besides, it's not like the Camarilla Nazi would try anything in securely held Anarch territory anyway – only animals like the Sabbat would be psychotically crazy enough to try it, and they weren't exactly a threat anymore.

He chose the corner outside table as the perfect spot. If anything were to happen then at least escape to the sewers would be a quick option, and the Nosferatu would shield him from further attacks – that is, if he could actually _find_ them. After Bella's showdown with Lacroix, they'd promptly vanished and not even investigations into the furthest reaches of the warrens could locate them. Nines had no doubt they were laying low until the heat on Bella chilled. The Camarilla, the Sabbat, and even the Kuei-Jin would be shipping in to clear up their crippled factions in Los Angeles soon enough. Not knowing what the storm brewing was a pain in the ass. Nines held the beer he had no intention of drinking, and gazed around the busy Hollywood street. People – mortals – going about their business like nothing was wrong. That everything was in the order it should be, and that they had a good grip on everything. Those poor bastards – they really had no clue.

"Mister Rodriguez…"

Strauss approached him. Nines looked up, just as the Tremere crossed the short distance to their table. Nines didn't bother to stand up and greet him, except for a solitary acknowledging nod.

"Sit down before I put you down, Strauss." He snapped, not in the mood to deal with this asshole's condescending bullshit.

Strauss froze when he got to his chair, perplexed by the chilly reception. Well, he wasn't _too_ surprised however there was a very distinct hostility he detected in Nines' voice.

"Must we always begin our meetings with such rudeness?"

Something must've happened, he realised. By the looks of it, Nines was clearly more agitated than usual and was channelling all that rage at him. Cautiously, Strauss sat down across from him, and noticed the tension gripping his counterpart.

"You got a lotta explaining to do, Strauss," Nines growled.

"And what explaining is that?"

Nines hesitated as a response as he regarded his counterpart with anger. He really didn't have to spell this out for him, did he? The mischievous glint in Strauss' eyes told him that he already knew.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He exploded, slamming his tightly clenched fists onto the table.

"I don't know what you are—!"

"Spare me!" Nines spat, and pushed away from the table. The whole table shook as he violently pushed away and stood. "You've just gone and shredded the whole fucking deal. Start singing your begs for mercy because its _war_!"

Strauss stared at him, dumbfounded. "I assure you, Mister Rodriguez that I am not aware of what you speak of."

Inwardly, a tight knot twisted in his stomach. The feeling he was getting from this manic Anarch was hard to ignore.

Nines paced frantically back and forth, not caring about the stares his outburst had garnered them. Kindred veiled themselves in secrecy, but at this moment, he didn't care. He had just compromised the anarchs and given away his weaknesses – all for nothing!

"You brought another fucking _Prince_ into the city? Where is she, Strauss? What the fuck were you thinking?"

So... the Anarch rebel has discovered the secret that Strauss had _hoped_ to keep, at least for a few nights. Then again, he shouldn't have been surprised. With all the recent turmoil going on in Los Angeles, he should've known that the arrival of a high-powered female Prince from New York City, the other major kindred domain in the United States, would quickly leak out.

Across the table, Nines was barely containing his anger. Strauss contemplated Nines' outburst with thoughtful care. He wasn't one to be intimidated by a hotheaded Brujah anarch, no matter how powerful or beloved he is. Remaining seated, calmly, the Tremere Regent pondered the best way to respond…

"How did you come to know this?" He wondered, careful not to place himself in arms-reach of the volatile kindred.

In that moment, he saw Nines tense even further. Strauss had just confirmed it all for him.

"You've just told me," Nines hissed through clenched teeth, trying desperately not to turn his rampage into a frenzy.

Strauss rolled his eyes and let out a disdainful sigh. In truth, Rosalynn's arrival was very coincidental but he had not planned for it, although he hardly thought Nines would see it that way. Fate would determine when their paths will cross.

"Mister Rodriguez, forgive me. Her arrival has nothing to do with our arrangement."

"You're wrong about that! How the hell can I trust you to keep your end of the deal up when you're inviting a New York Prince to work us over?"

"Sit down. Please."

Going against every instinct he had, Nines slowly lowered himself into the seat across from him.

"Where is she, Strauss? Don't make me hunt her down myself…"

Strauss quirked a brow, curiously, but didn't immediately reply to that. He wasn't about to confess to Nines that his long-thought dead wife, Rosalynn, was already making haste to hunt and destroy him. Rosalynn thought Nines was dead, only to find out not long after her embrace that he too had been embraced, however had been killed by the Anarchs. On the other hand, Nines thought his wife went on to live a happy life with their daughter, got remarried, and lived a normal life as she was meant to. He left New Jersey and trekked across the country to rid himself of being painfully close to his family. Strauss didn't know this, but he couldn't help but wonder what would happen, when the hotheaded rebel anarch leader, and the dominating New York Prince, found their way to each other again. Both became in death, what the lies surrounding their embraces turned them into.

"Why do you care to know where she is?" Strauss asked Nines coolly.

"Because from what I hear you and your little buddy plan to screw us over! We had a deal, Strauss!"

"And we still do! Her being here is coincidental timing, and that is all! She has nothing to do with this alliance – she knows about it, and has expressed her disdain for it, but she understands that this is not what she's here for. She understands the common cause for it. I've made it clear to her that she is not to involve herself with it, and she has agreed."

The lies rolled so easily off his tongue that Strauss didn't think anything of it. For all he was concerned, Nines could easily be doing the same with him at the moment – but seeing the dangerously angered glint in the man's eyes, he highly doubted it.

"And why should I believe you?" Nines fumed, running a hand over his hair, clearly still agitated but had cooled down somewhat.

"_You_ have no choice," Strauss pointed out. "The alliances hinges on a certain degree of trust, as much as you and I may hate it so. The Prince's arrival has nothing to do with this alliance. She is here on her own accord, and I suspect she will not be staying long."

"And how do you figure _that_?"

"I am quite sure news has reached you regarding the turmoil gripping New York City at this time. As Prince, she cannot be away from it for too long. She merely had to escape the city until things calmed down a little."

Nines sighed. He didn't like it, but what choice did he have? The Kuei-Jin were inching ever closer to getting their dirty, demonic claws into the heart of Los Angeles. This alliance was the only defence to it that they had.

"What makes you think that she's just gonna turn a blind eye to this?"

"Los Angeles is not her domain, and she knows it. She is here on official business, but otherwise travels alone. She has other matters to attend to, more pressing ones. She does not know this city. In a few nights, she'll be gone. Do not trouble yourself with this, Mister Rodriguez. You should not have reason to cross each others' paths…"

There was a strong chance in the coming nights, he'd be choking on those words, but for now he saw no reason to panic the younger kindred. They both needed calmness in the face of the Kuei-Jin threat.

"My people are pissed, and so am I. Give me one good reason to accept a damn word you say now." Nines glared at him.

"You do not have to accept anything I say. But in doing so you take the deal off the table, and any allegiance the Camarilla has with you will be gone, and…" Strauss paused, as a tiny smile tickled the corners of his mouth. "So will any obligation I have to helping _you_."

Nines looked away, furiously trying to figure out what to think. This may be his one and only chance to find out what happened to his family, and by all means he should've gone to the Nosferatu to do so. Even if he had, there was no way to guarantee their help. Gary's allegiances always hung on the principle of the right info, for the right price. Damn it. Nines sure could've used Bella at this moment. She had crawled into the depths of the sewers and managed to get further than any of them, to reach the vast network of underground Nosferatu lairs.

He couldn't believe this was happening. Not only did he have his demons to deal with, but now also had to deal with this New York Prince who decided to show up _now_?

"Fine," Nines huffed, not liking this at all. "Whatever. Just… who is she? I should at least know and inform my people. Tell me what you know about her."

_Something tells me that you already know her more intimately than anyone._ Strauss wisely kept it to himself.

"There's not much I know," Strauss knew he had to choose his words carefully. "This woman is very reclusive. She is very popular with the Camarilla and fiercely loyal to the organisation. She is very knowledgeable and powerful - from what I have learned of her, probably more so than Lacroix was. She is not afraid to, how should I say... _delve_ into the more filthy aspects of our world. She also has a fierce dislike for you Anarchs."

Nines rolled his eyes. "A Cammy bitch not likin' us. Not a huge surprise."

"Oh her hatred is not one evolved on loyalty…" Strauss continued, settling back into his seat. "This one is personal."

"And you think we _shouldn't _be worried?" Nines replied.

If this woman is powerful as Strauss claims she is, and has a personal vendetta against Anarchs, then screw the alliance - Nines was going to make sure his people were on notice.

"Be on alert. I believe she has a volatile personality – much like yourself. But I truly believe she will have no bearing on our proceedings."

"You sound like you don't believe your own words."

"From what I've been told, she can be unpredictable. But with New York in the predicament it is in, I do not believe she has the energy at the moment to involve herself in the politics of another city."

Having any popular Camarilla elitist wandering the streets of L.A. did nothing to put Nines' concerns to rest – especially one with a short temper. Nonetheless, at least he knew she was around. If only he knew her name, that would help. He had to instruct his people to be on the lookout for her.

"So who is she? What's her name?"

Strauss always had this strange sense of 'knowing' in his eyes, some sort of knowledge or secret that he always knew to keep to himself. Tonight, Nines saw that same glint. He knew. Strauss shifted in his seat, and did not answer him straight away. Whatever answer he gave, Nines wasn't going to be satisfied.

"I cannot tell you," He finally answered after a long pause. "She requested anonymity. She's a recluse, even in New York. Hardly anyone has seen her. Right now, she would prefer it if I do not mention her name, lest her presence here be betrayed by those wishing her harm..." Strauss let that last part linger a moment before continuing. "That would drag New York's problems here, and I assume you would not want that mess on our doorstep anymore than I do…"

"Strauss, fuck you. Tell me her name – I ain't got time for this." Nines interrupted.

"I have to respect the boundaries of all my arrangements," Strauss insisted. "She wants anonymity, then I have to give it to her. Like I said, she will be of no concern to you."

He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep up the lies, knowing how persistent the Anarch was. Maintaining a cool façade, Strauss pondered whether or not to tell him anymore. After all, why give away the fun of it, watching the top Anarch self-destruct when he realises that the ghost that has haunted his dreams isn't actually a ghost?

Nines regarded him sceptically, but finally gave up. Sighing, he relaxed in his seat and gazed out around the street again. Sometimes he longed to be mortal again – dealing with mortal problems instead of this bullshit. The problems following the Crash of '29 were tame compared to the shitty politics he was playing now – caught up in a world he had loathed in life, and death.

"I'm sorry, truly," Strauss read the annoyance in his eyes, his tone apologetic. "I had not expected her arrival. The absolute truth is that her people requested her meeting with me and to take up residence here, for only a few nights. I assume it's because they want to ensure her safety amidst the confusion over there."

Not knowing who this woman was made him feel helpless. Nines looked away to survey the street, reaching for any distraction he could find. There were none. A dejected sigh heaved in his chest and after a long pause, he returned his attention to Strauss.

"That better be the truth, Strauss. Or else you know what happens." He warned.

"Believe me, I understand."

"Whatever. Now, did you find what I want?"

Hiding his relief for the change of subject behind a stoic expression, Strauss nodded and reached down his side to the briefcase propped against his chair. Silent seconds passed between them as he fumbled around, until he found what he was searching for. Straightening up, Strauss calmly adjusted himself, dignified, in his seat before placing two sheets of paper on the table and slid them across to Nines.

Keeping his hands in his lap, Nines spared the documents a fleeting glance before looking to Strauss, his gaze drowned in suspicion. A nervous tension tightened his chest, forcing Nines to swallow down a hard lump in his throat.

"What are these?" He asked, the build up of emotion weighing down his voice.

"Birth records. The first is for a Miss Rosalynn Louisa Marie Rodriquez, maiden name Adams. Am I correct in assuming it belongs to _your_ lady?" Strauss informed him, searching Nines' unreadable face for a hint of confirmation. Try as he might, he found the hardened expression of the man, trained to hide himself from the world, to be indiscernible.

Nines could only find strength for a single nod. His mouth ran dry, stripped of his voice, as he recognised the name in the place marked for the birth holder's name…

_**Name of child: Rosalynn Louisa Marie Adams**_

His Rosalynn. His wife. One of only two loves Nines remembered. One of the only two loves he cared for - his one memory that kept him strong enough to carry the weight of an entire movement on his shoulders.

Blinking through his disbelief, Nines ran a hand over his mouth and tried to look away, but the need to read on kept his eyes glued to the page.

"Rosalynn…" He breathed upon a trembling breath as his eyes travelled to the next several lines.

"Date of birth: September 23, 1906, Mother: Phyllis Anne Meakins, Father: Ronald Nicholas Arnold Adams. Born: St. Paul's Hospital, Newark… holy shit, it's her…"

He couldn't stop the awestruck tone his words carried as the further he read confirmed Strauss had so far held up his end of the bargain. In his hands, he held the official birth record of his beloved Rosalynn. Skimming over the rest of the page, every detail he read confirmed on paper what he knew of her.

After reading it over several times, he finally managed to break away and look up. Strauss smirked, knowing the unspoken gratitude in the other man's eyes wasn't deliberate, suspecting Nines didn't even realise it.

"And the other one…" Strauss trailed off, nodding the second.

Setting Rosalynn's birth record aside, Nines found the other and though he was sure it weren't possible, felt his heart jumpstart into beating again…

"Emily Angela Rodriguez…" He read his baby's name, his words choking as he fought off an unexpected emotional attack on his senses.

Emily's birth record went on to list him and Rosalynn as her parents, detailing her time and place of death, in the same hospital her mother had been born in twenty-one years earlier. Nines leaned forward, dropping his elbows on the table and held up the document until he no longer saw Strauss sitting across from him.

The thin piece of paper became his protection, his shield, because in that split second he couldn't stop pain from taking his eyes hostage, feeling it crawl over him in a moment of weakness he was not prepared to let the Camarilla regent see. Just as quickly as the bout of paternal affection stabbed his chest, it left him as he lowered the page to the table.

"Wow…" He whispered, reading Emily's name over and over again, seeing her smiling face beaming at him from his memory.

His angel.

Strauss stared at him, waiting for a crack of emotion to split the man's indifferent mask wide open to reveal a sign of weakness, but Nines offered him nothing. Careful to not make his intentions clear, Strauss settled back in his seat and averted his gaze, affording his opponent-turned-reluctant-colleague a dignified moment to recollect himself and find his way back to their conversation.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed when he finally looked up. "You came through on this."

Nines didn't want to believe it, staring at the bastard of a kindred sitting across from him. It was hard to look at Strauss as anything but a poster boy for the Camarilla, and for that it felt so wrong just to be sitting at the same table with him.

As much as he wanted to hate the man more in this moment, staring at the two documents, detailing the moments the two loves of his short life entered the world, he realised exactly what Strauss had to do to get these. Invading the kine world to suit the personal needs of a kindred was not condoned by the Camarilla. The idea of Maximillian Strauss going out on a limb stripped the hate right out of his chest. Nines knew he'd hate himself later, but he had to say…

"Thank you. For honouring the deal." He mumbled, not able to say it and look him in the face at the same time.

"As I said to you before, we in the Camarilla honour our deals and practice discretion. Think of it nothing more as a transaction in our dealings. But I do have more for you…"

Nines stared coldly at him, unsure if he want to hear this…

"And what's that?"

"I had my contact do some digging. As you can imagine, retrieving seventy year old records was not the easiest task in the world, but with the reluctant assistance of one of our Nosferatu kindred in New York, he brought back to me some information pertaining to your wife and young child… some things perhaps you should know…"

His grave tone served as an icy warning that struck Nines like a blade run through his chest. Bracing himself for bad news, Nines sat up straight, running on nervous energy.

"Tell me." He demanded through clenched teeth, his memory zeroing in on the unidentified male figure he remembered at Emily's ninth birthday celebration. If he hurt her or Rosalynn in any way, he'd find his way to digging up the bastard's corpse to kill it all over again before throwing it to the werewolves.

"How old was she when you last saw little Emily?" Strauss wondered, seeking to indulge a nagging curiosity upon recognising a distinctly pained look in Nines' eyes.

"I don't see how that matters."

"It does matter. Just indulge me for a moment…"

Nines sighed, feeling the fatigued by the conversation already. "She was nine. I saw them, they didn't see me. It was a fluke encounter, here in Hollywood."

He didn't need to explain anymore than that, he saw Strauss nod understandingly. Both knew very well the tendency of younger kindred seeking out family members, finding it difficult in the initial years to lose their mortal sensibilities, longing for their human attachments. In this case, Nines hadn't gone looking for them. Their paths had crossed purely on coincidence.

"I see…" Strauss thoughtfully said.

"What is it?"

"I only ask because of the timing…"

Nines frowned, not following. "Timing?"

"What do you think happened to your wife and child?"

The line of questioning irked the anarch leader, drawing an annoyed look on his face before he realised there was something beyond Strauss' eyes. Something more knowing than he was telling.

"I don't know…" Nines confessed the lie. In truth, he'd spent many daylight hours pondering over the fate of his beautiful family whilst he should've been asleep. Not knowing what happened to them killed a little more of his humanity on every day. Part of him hated the bastard who had invaded his family, stealing them away from him, though he knew they were no longer his to claim. The other part of him silently prayed that whoever he was, managed to give them everything they deserved. Everything he was never able to give them.

Nines cast a saddened gaze around the dark, empty street, thankful that mortal presence seemed to be thinning out.

"After I left, I tried to imagine how they were. I gave up when I realised it was doing myself more harm than good. About three years after I was embraced, I stumbled across them in Hollywood, celebrating Emily's birthday. They were with a man, I didn't recognise him. I assume that's with who they ended up with."

Nines kept the explanation as short as possible, giving Strauss a daring glare that silently warned him not to make an issue of it, seeing that he wanted to. Strauss replied with an understanding smile, which vanished to be replaced with what Nines could only place as an uncomfortable look, as though something had suddenly confused the usually unshakably cool Camarilla agent.

"I found out some things. Some disturbing things."

Disturbing things? Seventy years worth of fear slapped him in the face in that moment, rendering Nines startled to the revelation. "What…?" He dared to ask.

"Are you sure you want to--?"

"Yes." He snapped, not leaving Strauss to finish the question.

Strauss sighed, hesitating in a pregnant moment of silence before reaching down into his briefcase again, straightening up this time with a new document. Nines started to reach for it, but Strauss held it out of his way.

"Mister Rodriguez, wait…"

"What happened to them?" Nines growled, eyeing the new piece of paper with suspicion.

The tone of his voice was not to be reckoned with. Not wanting a scene, Strauss sighed, and slowly held out the page, which Nines promptly snatched from him.

"It is little Emily's death certificate. Issued in 1937." Strauss said, sliding back in his chair to distance himself beyond Nines' reach.

1937? That would mean…

"No…" Nines whispered, unable to finish the thought as horror mixed with disbelief turned his expression to stone. "No fucking way!"

"I am most sorry." Despite their differences, Strauss couldn't help but feel sorry for Nines – who, in that moment, was not the leader of the Anarch movement, but a man who had just realised his child had died way before she should have. If the look on Nines' face was anything to read, it was as though he hadn't known she'd died at all, though seventy years on, it should've crossed his mind as a possibility.

"My colleague obtained this from the archives of the Newark Police Department," Strauss admitted. "They list her death as July 10th, 1936 – when your wife reported her missing. No cause of death is listed, because there was no body, but as you can see they issued the death certificate one year later, the State of New Jersey declared Emily as a 'Missing-Presumed-Dead' case, and officially declared the case closed."

Dead? Nines didn't believe it. It couldn't be possible, not after having spent countless sleepless days over seventy damn years pondering each new phase of Emily's life, imaging her getting married and having children, growing old and dying warm and snug in her bed as an old lady who had seen and lived life. Not at nine years old. At nine years old, she couldn't have died on her own terms. She couldn't have died, knowing it was coming. At nine years old, she had to have been murdered.

"No… Emily…" He whispered, her name choking in his throat, threatening to bring unwelcomed emotion with it.

"I'm sorry. I really am."

"This can't be real…" It can't be real, Nines inwardly chanted over and over. Rosalynn was a brilliant mother, protective and nurturing - she'd never let anyone get so close to Emily they'd be able to harm her. Rosalynn would've never let their baby's death go by unnoticed and unsolved.

"I--!"

"NO!" Nines roared, leaping to his feet, attracting the attention of the few remaining patrons of the restaurant. Uncaring to their curiosity, he didn't think twice as he picked up the chair he'd been sitting on and hurled it across the length of the restaurant, where it promptly shattered against the brick wall. People dove out of their way, cries of surprise and fear echoing between random groups as everyone except Strauss sought to distance themselves from the man who'd suddenly snapped.

Draping one leg over the other, Strauss calmly sat back, only his eyes following Nines as the Brujah Anarch paced maniacally back and forth. Panic and fury blended together, rendering his expression unreadable as he paced.

"I suggest you calm yourself before you attract kine attention," Strauss advised seriously, his tone eerily calm.

"Fuck you and your bullshit laws," Nines snapped, looking down on the man disdainfully. "You're saying my kid was murdered?"

"Apparently so. My colleague discovered police reports, which he has yet to fax me. They stated there was no ransom demand or contact made by whoever took her. You wanted to know what happened. No one knows what happened to little Emily, her body has never been found."

The idea that his child's corpse was lying somewhere, undiscovered and without the dignity of a proper burial, or goodbye from her parents, nauseated him. Though it physically wasn't possible, Nines felt sick. A surge of anger rippled through him, tensing his hands into tight fists as his side, as he stopped in front of the Tremere Primogen.

"What about Rosalynn… Where is her…?" He trailed off, unable to bring himself to say death certificate.

Strauss' brows arched curiously. "Where is your wife's death certificate? There is none."

"What?"

"No state in the country has a death certificate issued for Rosalynn."

Strauss fought the urge to smile, knowing the truth was exceedingly difficult to contain in this moment. He had Nines Rodriguez on the emotional ropes right now, and could tell him anything wrapped up in the disguise of pertaining to his family's fate, and he'd probably buy it. But realising the sensitivity of the alliance brokered between their sects hinged on Nines' cooperation, he opted for a little more truth this time…

"My colleague managed to track down a still-living friend of your wife, Nina Michaels, who still reside in New Jersey. She's very old but her memory of that time seems almost impossibly acute. She said that in the days following Emily's disappearance, Rosalynn became very distraught and started acting erratically, and drinking. She disappeared, after last being sighted in a bar not far from where, presumably, they lived."

Nines blinked, but the shock wouldn't leave him, paralysing him to the spot. "Disappeared?"

It had to be impossible for both Rosalynn and Emily to disappear without a trace.

Strauss nodded. "No death certificate has ever been issued, because no one officially reported her missing. Rosalynn's friend says she tried, but her family didn't want her to get involved and no investigation ever took place. Rosalynn just disappeared, never to be seen again."

This was all too much. None of it made any sense, and the unspoken horror that accompanied realising the suffering his family went through, and him not being there to protect them, drove a nail of guilt into his heart.

In that moment, Nines broke free of the shock long enough for an angry roar to erupt from the depths of his chest, and snatched something out of his pocket. Grief he'd save for later, he refused to let this Camarilla son of a bitch taste an ounce of weakness from him. Decades of practice allowed him to stifle the anguish somewhere deep enough in him to allow reason to break through his eyes again…

Snatching up the three documents from the table – Rosalynn and Emily's birth certificates, and Emily's death certificate – and slammed down a sheet of paper. Strauss glanced at her, then at him skeptically.

"What is this?"

"It's what's going to make this alliance work." Nines coldly snapped, narrowing his eyes hard on him. "I want all these supplies, not one thing missing, delivered to The Last Round tomorrow by midnight, or the whole deal is off. I want every intelligence report, every sighting, and every encounter with the Kuei-Jin to be sent over as well. We do this my way, Strauss. If anything is missing or if I suspect you working behind my back with this New York Prince, if I find her and her story is in anyway different from yours, I'll kill her and personally come after you."

Strauss stiffened, his jaw visibly clenching as he poised himself with dignity. "You'd do well not to intimidate me, Mister Rodriguez…" He warned.

"This is the way it's going to be. Or gear up for a new war, and it won't just be with those eastern demons. Remember, you have until midnight. Otherwise the deal's off." Nines sneered, pushing himself up from the table and stormed away, giving him no chance for reply and disappeared into the night…

Seventy years of experience told him he'd just entered the snake's pit. Now, he feared, he might not be leaving without being bitten.

**MEANWHILE, AT THE LAST ROUND…**

"This is too fucking sweet!"

"Damsel, shut up."

"C'mon, Skelter. Enjoy the moment! Yet another Camarilla sucker about to bite the dust!" Mocking female laughter followed.

"A'right kiddos, back the hell off here… lemme see 'er." A deeper, harsher male voice interrupted.

"Jack, _chill_!" The female voice said. "This bitch ain't going anywhere. Let's stake her and throw her out for the Sabbat vermin to scavenge!"

The swirl of voices blended together in Rosalynn's head. Blackness and voices was all her disoriented senses could give her amidst the burning sensation tearing her head apart. An anguished groan rumbled deep inside her throat as she tried to reconnect to the conscious world, and then all of the voices silenced.

In the lounge room, Damsel, Skelter, Jack and Kali all huddled around the sofa where the newest kindred to Los Angeles lay crumpled awkwardly. It had been over two hours since Jack hauled the redhead's bloodied body into the bar, announcing his arrival with all the crassness expected of him. He hadn't caught her – but he accepted the gift courtesy of Gary Golden, the Nosferatu leader, who'd emerged from the sewers with impeccable timing as usual, just as Jack headed back to the Elysium. Without a word, only a parting snicker, Gary dumped the unconscious kindred – an unfamiliar one – at Jack's feet. Skelter, Kali and Damsel were shocked to see the 'gift' Jack delivered. The kindred, one that none of them recognised before except for being of Ventrue blood, bled out from a nicely delivered crack to her skull; her forehead split wide open. Jack quickly explained where and how he found her, enjoying the gawking expressions his explanation earned from his colleagues. They quickly transported Rosalynn next door, affording themselves privacy from the younger ones to get a better perspective on the newcomer.

Moving around to stand at Rosalynn's side, Kali frowned over the Prince's prone form, regarding her thoughtfully.

"Who is she?"

"Fucked if I know." Jack shrugged. "Got buzzed by Isaac; the poor bastard was panicked over something Gary was spewing. Begged me to find this one before Nines did."

"Nines?" Damsel threw him a questioning look – the first time she looked serious instead of jovial since they brought her here. "How the hell does Nines figure into this?"

Again, Jack shrugged. "Bah. I don't really give a fuck, kid. All the _good baron_ would say is that she's someone we're gonna wanna know. Sure enough, Gary popped his goulish head out of the sewer and threw _that_ at me."

"I can't believe Isaac would associate with _any_ of the Nosferatu, let alone Gary…" Damsel remarked, shifting to stand next to Kali.

"All Isaac would say is that _this_ kindred could shake things up for us badly. Gary told him that he found her waltzing out of the Chantry here."

"I'm surprised Gary's showin' up at all. Last I checked, the Nosferatu disappeared." Kali frowned, clearly trying to sort through the logic.

"Oh Isaac had an explanation for that too. Apparently the Nosferatu have bolted. Way outta town, scattering to Sacramento and San Francisco. At least until the dust settles from Lacroix going _ka-boom_."

A soft moan effectively silenced the conversation right there. The four vampires crowded around the bloodied kindred, hovering over her like she was some sort of science experiment. Even Jack, normally unsurprised by most things these days, couldn't help but indulge in the curiosity. Coming to stand at the end of the sofa, he leaned over and checked out the pretty face beneath the mask of blood. Still puffing away on his cigar, he snatched it out of his mouth long enough to let out a long exhale of smoke. His expression turned thoughtful.

"A'right. The three of you, _scram_." He jabbed his thumb towards the hall. "I'll watch over this one."

Skelter, Damsel and Kali exchanged the same cautious look.

"Hell no, Jack. I wanna see what Nines' got to say about this." Damsel refused to budge – and planted herself on the end of couch.

"Either you go on your own, or I remove you," Jack chuckled, knowing the threat was enough. He never had much trouble clearing a room when he had to.

Like it or not, Damsel knew she stood no chance against him – and that Jack would actually follow through with any threat he made. Begrudgingly, and not too quietly, Damsel followed the others and they exited the room – presumably headed in the direction of The Last Round, next door. Once Jack heard the definitive open and slam of the door, he moved around to kneel before the fallen Camarilla kindred. He cocked his head slightly and stared intently at her face, deliberately exhaling a long stream of cigar smoke in her bloodied face. The mystery woman barely mustered a soft groan. Beneath that bloody mask, he determined there was a fine-looking woman indeed.

"Wakey-wakey, sunshine," Jack cooed in her face, and laughed as he jumped out of the way of her swiping hand. "Man, this one's got a wild streak!"

Rosalynn groaned. Or at least she thought she did. The rumbling, throaty sound she made sounded disgusting to her own ears. The sledgehammer in her head barely gave her a moment to register that deep voice mocking her, but instinct took over as she tried to grab it. Whoever it was, he was going to be the first to feel her wrath.

Moving proved to be just as hard. Her arms felt like lead, and her eyes stubbornly refused to open.

_What... the... hell...?_

It was the first coherent thought she could manage, but at least her wits were returning. Finally rousing one arm to move, Rosalynn laid a hand to her forehead and hissed. The touch of her fingers to a deep crevasse cutting across her head gave her the first clue as to what happened. The sticky goo that was her blood gave away the severity of her injuries.

"Just fucking great." Rosalynn slurred, and cringed.

Jack stood up and took a step back to survey the damage – and the kindred. In typical Jack fashion, his attention went straight from her face to her chest, to her hips and then finally to her butt. Overall assessment?

"Not bad..." Jack murmured, nodding approvingly.

Get this one cleaned up and she might actually pass as something decent to look at. But to hell with that, seeing a Camarilla rolling around in its own blood was just too much fun to pass up.

It took a mighty effort, but Rosalynn finally pried her eyes apart and blinked against the harsh light. A shade of red – her blood – tainted the blurry shapes that began to take form. The bright light struck her eyes, eliciting another sharp hiss from her. With resounding effort, she threw an arm across her eyes.

"Jesus Chris, damn light." She grouched, her voice hoarse.

"Aww poor wittle Cam... gotta bit of a headache, do ya?" That annoyingly husky voice pulverised her ears with more howling laughter.

Whoever that voice belonged to, that person surely didn't recognise the danger he was in – Rosalynn was seriously in the mood to tear apart anything within a fifty yard radius.

"Heh heh, too easy." Jack chuckled, kneeling at her side again.

Being the annoying bastard that he is, and always up for a laugh, he toyed his cigar between his fingers before burning a perfect circle into the kindred's arm. And it worked like a charm. The searing burn struck like a bolt of lightning shooting through her. Rosalynn's eyes burst open and she let out an earth-shattering howl, leaping from the sofa without the customary grace she usually possessed. Jack laughed hysterically as he easily stepped out of the way, letting the pretty redhead scream out her agony as she dropped to her knees, taken down by her own momentum. Poor Camarilla mutt must be exhausted, Jack figured as he watched her pant heavily for air she didn't need.

Rosalynn hugged her arms around her stomach, and fought to sit up on her knees. Her vision cleared enough for her to find the dirty, brawny fellow leaning against the wall several arms-lengths away. His scraggly brown hair, weathered face and rough beard gave him the look of a brawler, and a man who started many fights - and survived many more.

Rosalynn angrily swiped her hair from her eyes and glared at him the way a distressed predator eyed potential prey. Being who he was though, Jack responded with no more than a sly grin.

"Who... are... _you_?" Rosalynn growled, keeping one arm hooked around herself – and the other around the back of her head. There she felt another disturbingly deep gap – and the sensation of her own blood gluing her hair to her scalp.

"Honey, no one you wanna be messin' with, that's for sure," Jack chuckled, and continued puffing away on his cigar.

He wasn't at all bothered that she was riled up with the look of a caged animal, ready to attack. This girl obviously didn't know where she was or who she was with, or else she'd realise there's no way she could intimidate him.

"How dare you! Filthy scum, you will answer my question!" Rosalynn seethed, and awkwardly used her palm to smear away the bloody stains on her cheeks.

Defiant and arrogant, even her state, Rosalynn forsook the sheer agony that seized her from head-to-toe, as she forced herself up. Straightening herself up, she threw her shoulders back and tried to at least assemble herself in a somewhat dignified manner.

To that, Jack merely raised a brow. The humour he felt died a little, as he came to terms with a sudden realisation. Given recent events, it wasn't hard to put two-and-two together.

"Well, well, well... lookie at what we have here. An actual,100 per cent, pure blood Ventrue Prince." Looking every bit the unassuming son-of-a-bitch his reputation pinned him as, Jack laughed. "Listen, sweet cheeks, it ain't like I haven't seen your kind prancing about here before. Too bad you missed the party – I sure as hell wouldn't have minded seeing you toasted along with Lacroix."

Rosalynn waited until she was finally certain on her feet, but kept an arm tightly wound around her midsection, where she'd sustained a lot of damage. Whoever worked her over earlier, did a great job in making her spit up her own blood. The pain settled long enough for her to think straight – and finally realise what this dirty scum just said.

"How do you know who I am?" She asked in a controlled, but angry, voice.

Jack shrugged, also keeping his distance – he was way too content in watching this chick fall all over herself. And that's exactly what she did. Just as she was confident enough to take one step away from the sofa, Rosalynn shrieked as her body gave out underneath her, and she tumbled to the floor – at Jack's feet.

Making no effort to help her up, Jack stepped over her, muttering a humour-laced 'sorry' when his boot connected with the her gut.

"You Cammy fucks really don't practice what you preach with all that Masquerade horseshit. The whole city knows about _you_, princess. Though I must say, I'm not really seein' much truth in that rep you got," he commented, sinking down onto the blood-soaked sofa in time to watch the comedy show unfold.

On the floor, Rosalynn fell into a violent coughing fit – coughing up a hell of a lot of blood, and perhaps a lung, thanks to this asshole's 'accidental' kick. Oh God, it hurt. Her innards were flaming, and her head was pounding. Perching herself on all fours, she coughed up what she hoped was the last of her blood. When she was done, Rosalynn threw herself back and used the wall to raise herself up – staggering once on her feet. There was no way she could do this and dominate him at the same time.

"Oh yeah? So just who am I then?" she sneered, spitting out the blood that coagulated in her mouth.

Her frazzled red hair was wild, and coloured the same as the bloody mask she wore – making her look all the more hilarious to Jack, and every bit as undignified as she felt. This was not how she wanted to meet the Anarchs – she looked more _like_ them now, rather than the esteemed Prince that she is!

Jack slung an arm around the back of the sofa and tilted his head slightly.

"You tell me, sweetcheeks. _You_ crashed _our _party."

Rosalynn brushed down her clothes in a futile attempt to regain her dignity. Her body ached badly, but heaven would sooner fall from the sky before she showed this fool.

"I want to know how you knew me to be the Prince..." She answered forcefully, meeting Jack's eyes with her most damning glare.

"I've been around the block quite a few times to smell the stench of Venture Camarilla..." Jack answered cryptically, in that annoyingly unbothered way of his.

The smirk he wore on his face reached his eyes. He was entirely delighted by this strange turn of events. His smile dimmed a little, and he sat up.

"Call it intuition, or whatever the fuck you want. I've been around long enough to know you folk for what you are."

"You will not call me that," Rosalynn stated, matching his intensity with her own.

If this was a battle of wits, she will beat this fool into submission. Just like that, the mischief returned to Jack's eyes.

"Oh really? Well then, Your Highness, what is your name then?"

"Oh look, something you _don't_ know," Rosalynn sneered, recovered enough to leave the security of the wall.

She took one step towards him, and it was enough for Jack to rise up. All humour left him as he matched her steps, until they came toe-to-toe.

The height difference forced Rosalynn to look up at him, but she didn't back down. "You tell me yours, I'll tell you mine."

"Gutsy little thing, ain't ya?" Jack blew smoke in her face.

Without thinking about it, Rosalynn's hand latched onto Jack's wrist. She moved so quickly that her speed landed the ancient Anarch off-guard. Jack barely had time to curse when she ducked out of his way, ending up behind him. Rosalynn twisted his arm back until it damn near broke off. The resounding crunch of the carpal bones in his wrist interrupted Jack's roar as he went to one knee. Rosalynn then jammed her knee into his spine, leaning down to his ear.

"Decidedly so," she purred. "Still want to tango with me?"

For a split second, Jack was stunned. The girl moved too quickly to be a fledgling, and commanded a lot of strength in just one arm. Immediately he knew one thing about her – this girl isn't afraid of him, like any younger kindred should be. She must be the real deal.

Jack shook his head of his distraction. "Sure thing, princess."

He answered her with brute strength. Ignoring the throbbing pain in his wrist, Jack rose up and backed into her. Using his height, he lifted Rosalynn up and flipped her over his shoulder – throwing her into the air. Rosalynn screamed as she sailed into the wall. She impacted the corner table and plain wooden chairs, shattering one.

"Fuck!" Jack cursed at his wrist, and channelled the pain into a deep growl as he snapped it back into its rightful place.

Already Rosalynn was on her feet – swaying, but upright. When Jack turned around to her, he noticed what she now carried in her left hand – the broken leg of one of the chairs. An improvised stake. Her wild mane of hair coupled with the ravenous expression she wore, gave the impression she was more animal than esteemed Prince.

Crouched ready to attack, Rosalynn faced off against Jack. The former pirate regarded the cornered Prince for a long while, before erupting in laughter.

"Ha ha! Oh fuck, sweet cheeks you are priceless!" Jack cackled, laughing harder at Rosalynn's confusion. "Man, this can't get any sweeter."

"What are you talking about?"

"Don't you go thinking we're just gonna let you walk out of here. I don't get much chance to spill a lot of Prince blood, but you're gonna be a fun one."

Such boorishness and gracelessness Rosalynn expected of the Anarchs, but she couldn't put a finger on this one. He seemed to know more than other Anarchs she knew of, and certainly didn't have the 'fight-first, think-later' attitude of his Anarch brethren. Keeping her makeshift stake raised, Rosalynn hesitated.

"Who are you?" She asked, letting her curiosity get the better of her.

"Take a wild guess, sweetheart," Jack smirked, nursing his injured wrist. It healed almost instantly, but it proved this girl has strength and smarts. A good combo for any kindred to have.

Rosalynn stayed on her guard as she frantically searched her limited experience with this mongrel, comparing him to Strauss' vague description of the man she was searching for. She arrived at only one conclusion.

"You don't fit the description of the Anarch leader," she slowly deduced. Try as she might, she just couldn't suss him out. "You're someone else."

"I'm Jack," The brutish fellow bluntly stated. "And right now you're in my domain. So unless you wanna be losing that hand that's attached to that chair leg, I suggest you drop it."

It was more out of surprise than fear that caused Rosalynn to drop the chair leg, and she pressed herself into the corner of the room.

"Holy shit... you're Smilin' Jack!"

To prove it, Jack flashed his trademark smile. "Well, seems not all you Camarilla fucks are stupid. And what about you, sweet cheeks? Does the Prince of grand ol' New York have a name to go with that pretty face?"

Had she not been stunned to be standing in the presence of the legendary Anarch, Rosalynn would have had it in mind to tear the man's spine out through his nostrils. Nevertheless, if he wants to place this game – she'll play along.

"My name is Rosalynn," she gave him a dignified nod, despite her appearance. "I am Prince of the New York kindred."

"Look, princess, I assume you're aware of the fate of your LA colleague," Jack settled on the arm of the sofa.

"Lacroix? That moron didn't come close to having what it takes to own a city," Rosalynn snidely shot back.

"And I'm sure you know what's been goin' down here."

"I know a lot of things."

"Then you'll know that since we ain't in Elysium, I got a real bad need to whoop your ass all the way back to the east coast. Not that you'll survive long enough to see that fuckin' hole of a city again. I'm always up for a good thrill-kill!"

"You can try." Rosalynn snatched up the chair leg again, as Jack coolly rose up to meet her challenge.

"What's the matter? Can't go hand-to-hand with the big boys? Or maybe I'm just too big for you to handle." he joked.

"I merely utilise my surroundings. True leaders are resourceful." Rosalynn shot back, shifting the chair leg menacingly from one had to the other. "While it would be more appropriate for me to dominate you, I think I shall enjoy it more to wear your blood on my hands!"

Skilled in combat, she instantly plotted in her head all the ways she could kill the infamous pirate kindred with it. They prepared to square off – he moving away from the sofa, and she leaving the safety of the corner, to meet in the middle of the room.

Jack's sweeping look over the Prince gave him a lot of info. Despite her roughed-up appearance, Rosalynn stood like any other piece of Camarilla trash - she carried herself in the likes of a dictator, preparing to crush a peasant beneath her designer-clad foot. Beneath her delicate size, lay a hell of a lot of strength. Behind that pretty face was a cunning, devious soul that bled Camarilla spirit – and if Jack had his way, in a few seconds that spirit would be bleeding red all over the carpet.

The humour left his eyes, and he stared down Rosalynn. "Ya know, being a Ventrue asshole, you sure like to get down an dirty with the rest of us."

Rosalynn snorted. "I may be Ventrue, but I'm still from New Jersey."

Then, Jack threw his arms out dramatically. "Well then, princess. Take your best shot."

A sickly sweet smile broke through Rosalynn's blood-stained face. "I thought you'd _never _ask!"

* * *

**Note: Another cliffhanger, I know :) More coming soon.**


	8. Chapter 8

**REKINDLED HUMANITY – CHAPTER EIGHT**

**SUMMARY: An epic fight? Or maybe not. Nines returns to find his friends acting strangely – and discovers the ruins of their haven. Meanwhile, Rosalynn is trapped – and five Anarchs are closing in, fast.**

* * *

Damsel paced furiously back and forth along the bar, her impatient steps watched on by her two companions. Skelter stuck to his corner at the back of the room, arms crossed over his chest and his head bowed – only occasionally glancing up to make sure Damsel hadn't lost her damn mind and gone back to the haven. Seated at the base of the stairs, Kali sighed into her palm and traced an ivory finger through the thin coating of dust that settled on the step she sat upon.

Waiting around for their fearless leader wasn't exactly what she – or any of them – had in mind for the night.

Kali knew where she wanted to be – at Confession, mingling with the all the finely sculptured male kine and kindred that frequented the club.

"Where is he?" She complained after another minute of silence.

If things stayed this quiet the rest of night, she was going to explode.

"The meeting can't have gone on this long." Damsel added, finally stopping herself when she reached the bar door. "I think we better go look for him."

She started to open the door, but in the time it took for it to open Skelter was already at her side, and forced her back in.

"No way. Jack said stay put. Right now it ain't our business to be fuckin' around, Damsel. We'll wait until Nines comes back."

Damsel slapped his hands away and scowled. "Nines has been acting like a total ass recently. I don't think it was a good idea to let him go meet Strauss alone."

"Yeah, what has been going on with him?" Kali wondered.

Leaving the stairs, she crossed the short distance to her companions and flopped down on the nearest stool. The two women looked to Skelter, the next most senior member of the group, for an explanation. Skelter shrugged and moved off – back to his spot in the corner.

"Man, who the hell knows? And you know what, it probably ain't any of our business anyway."

"Nines has got some demons... something's up with him." Damsel sat herself next to Kali. "I mean... dealing with Strauss? Alone? Willing to bargain with the fucking Camarilla? That isn't him."

"Oh come on, Damsel. Give the guy a break. It's not like you haven't done some crazy shit lately." Kali laughed.

"Like what?" Damsel challenged.

"Yeah right, like I'm gonna run through that mile-long list."

Kali jumped out of the way of Damsel's fist, though not enough to deter her hotheaded colleague. In the span of a mortal heartbeat, Damsel was off the stool and tackled Kali to the ground.

"You wanna take that back?" Damsel said, as she waylaid Kali with a fist to her eye.

Still laughing, Kali threw her off and leapt to her feet, unbothered by the punch. Having a body capable of shaking off a beating was an advantage, and she suspected with the strength Damsel is capable of, there wasn't any real malevolence behind the attack. The two women faced off, neither exactly sure if the other was serious or not.

Watching from the sidelines, Skelter didn't bother intervening. There was no point getting in the way of Damsel's psychotic rage – real or not. And Kali wasn't any saner. The two women liked to fight out their differences, and more often than not it ended up in bloodshed.

"Will you two quit it?" He groaned, sliding down onto the nearest chair. "We gotta figure out what to do about Nines. He's putting us all at risk."

Bringing Nines back into the mix made both girls forget about their 'fight'. It was a good thing to, as the moment Damsel opened her mouth to answer him, the bar door swung open and thundered off the wall. Kali shrieked and backed into Damsel, tripping them both up, as Nines strode into the room.

The look on his face could kill, if the other three occupants of the bar were not already dead. His silver eyes burned anger and he checked around the bar. Thank God there weren't any kine patrons that night. He figured Skelter or Damsel had something to do with that, knowing the mood he was in. Setting his sights on the two girls, untangling themselves on the floor, Nines zeroed in on Damsel. He stepped over them, and ignored her protests as he snatched her up by her hair, throwing her onto the nearest bar stool.

"Hey, Nines! What the hell--?" Damsel started, but stopped the moment she caught sight of Nines' eyes. He was well beyond a state of reason.

Skelter stood up, unsure if he should intervene, as Kali quickly fled to his side. Out of the three of them, she was still the new kid on the block – only a couple years into her unlife. Hiding herself behind Skelter, Kali peeked out at the scene unfolding.

Damsel was suddenly without words – and the steely nerves that she normally threw in the face of any and all kindred vanished the moment she saw the irrational anger in her friend's eyes. His anger stole the courage from the tip of her tongue, and she backed herself into the bar.

"Uhh... hey, Nines. You okay?" She squeaked nervously, trying to not look him in the eyes.

While she was never afraid of anyone, Nines still carried decades of experience – and strength – over her.

"I met with Strauss." Nines stated.

"No kidding."

"You were right, he's trying to screw us over. He won't give up the name of the Prince. But we got a deal in place, and you're not gonna question it, am I clear? I don't give a damn if you like it or not, but we're all gonna make sure this alliance holds up."

Damsel could only nod, not liking him being so near. Nines released her, and turned his attention on Skelter and Kali.

"Skelter, there's a delivery coming here tomorrow at midnight. You're responsible for making sure everything's there."

"Got it," Skelter nodded. "What happened?"

The question apparently struck Nines hard, forcing him to pause and reel in his temper. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

Nothing, indeed. In his pocket he carried the three documents Strauss presented him, but he didn't have it in him to admit it to his colleagues. As far as Nines was concerned, it wasn't any of their business, although Damsel would try to make it so.

"Nines what the hell happened to you?" Damsel wondered as she slid out from behind him, putting some distance between her and the enraged Anarch.

"Forget it." Nines answered with a dismissive wave. To change the subject, he turned to Skelter. "Where is Jack?"

Skelter and Kali exchanged nervous looks. Jack mentioned something about Isaac not wanting Nines to find that Camarilla girl. On the other hand, if Nines whiffed a hint of deception on the part of his colleagues, he wouldn't hesitate in tearing out their unbeating hearts with his teeth. The last few nights proved a mighty test to all of their resolve. For Nines, his demons lay beyond just a werewolf attack or Lacroix's sadistic plans to tear apart Los Angeles in his quest for power and glory. Skelter and Damsel knew it, just by looking at their friend's face. Kali, on the other hand, had no clue what haunted Nines behind those manic eyes of his - which is why she hastily moved aside when Nines came over to the corner, and confronted Skelter.

Skelter did not flinch under Nines' penetrating glare. Nines stared at him hard for a long while, before turning on Damsel and Kali. All three of them wouldn't look at him for long before being compelled to avert their eyes.

"What is going on?" He made a point to emphasis each word, speaking to all three of them.

Nines settled on Skelter again, and slowly backed his friend into the corner.

"Nines, man... just chill. Nothin's happening..." Skelter held up his hands.

"Yeah well right now I seriously ain't in the mood to deal with whatever the fuck you three are hiding. Either spit it out or I'm going back to the haven." Nines massaged the side of head.

The last thing he needs right now is another headache, but he knew a secret when he smelled one. Deciding to try again, he turned to Kali. The normally vivacious Californian kindred reverted into a timid shell of herself - and when Nines advanced, she took refuge behind Damsel.

Of course that didn't deter the stalwart rebel leader. Nines easily shifted Damsel aside with the effortless swipe of one arm, his dangerous expression fixated on Kali.

Suddenly she was cornered. Kali whimpered as he backed her onto the stool. Nines stretched out his muscular arms either side of her, so there was no escape.

"Kaliyah..." Nines murmured her full name directly into her eyes, in a tone that dared her to confront him. "Where's Jack? Tell me before I put your head through the bar."

"I-I, uh..." Kali stammered, and glimpsed beyond Nines to where Damsel stood – comically dragging her thumb across her throat, and mouthing for her to shut up.

Nines grabbed Kali's shoulders and shook her. "Kaliyah!"

Though he was the closest thing the young fledgling had to having a mentor, since Kali was left sireless when her sire was slaughtered by Bach not long after she became one of them, Nines had no qualms smacking Kali around when she needed it. After all, it's a mean existence – and it was better for Kali to learn the harsh lessons of kindred unlife from someone like Nines, rather than waiting to be discovered by the likes of the Sabbat.

"H-he's next door," Kali confessed, and was instantly released.

"What's he doing there?"

Jack preferred his own, undisclosed haven. When he did decide to socialise with other kindred, he'd always hang out in the bar.

"Uhh, look Nines, calm down man... what did Strauss have to say?" Skelter intervened, stepping between Nines and Kali. He hoped to distract their leader long enough for Jack to finish doing whatever he was doing to that kindred, and dispose of her.

"Not anything useful, that's for damn sure." Nines sighed, rubbing his hands over his tired face. He'd been right about one thing – it was a long night. Recently there had been too many long nights for his liking.

"Doesn't matter what he said or didn't say. That ol' bastard didn't give me anything useful."

"Like that's a huge surprise." Damsel chimed in from her spot sitting atop one of the tables, legs crossed. She busied herself with a deck of cards, and a half-hearted game of solitaire – only half in-tune with whatever the others were yapping on about.

"Seriously, man did you honestly think Strauss was gonna give you anything?" Skelter pointed out.

"Ya, what the fuck up with you, Nines? I mean, you're actin' like some punk kid who cuts himself. All depressed and shit."

Damsel paused when all three of them gave her the same odd look. "What? I'm just sayin' what we're all thinking. Jeez!"

"I ain't usually one to agree with Damsel, but she's right. You've been acting kinda strange lately." Skelter added, much to Nines' annoyance.

"I'm fine," He assured them with hollow conviction, and started towards the stairs.

As sure as he felt all of their eyes on him, Nines wasn't prepared to let them know why he'd just made all of their unlives harder by dealing with Strauss. Yet it won't be much longer before he'd have to explain himself, and they did not need to be fractured on the eve of a new war against the Kuei-Jin.

"I'm headin' upstairs for a bit. You three okay to hold down the fort?" Nines turned at the base of the stairs, and received three nods. "Good. I'll be back in a few."

What he really needed was a few minutes to himself. But it wasn't until he ascended no more than halfway up the stairs that his plan was foiled. A muffled crash next door threw Nines back down the stairs, as the walls of the bar quaked violently. Kali shrieked and fell off her stool as Damsel and Skelter also fell. Glasses and bottles shattered, ringing in their ears as the shaking dissipated seconds later.

"What the hell!" Skelter was the first on his feet.

"Holy shit that was loud," Damsel cringed, her hands over her ears that still resonated painfully. "What the fuck was that?"

"I think I know." Kali murmured, and cast a worried glance towards the haven next door.

"What is going on over there?" Nines growled, straightening himself up.

He shot a dangerous look at Damsel, who shrugged innocently. "How would I know?"

"What is Jack doin' over there?"

He headed straight for the door, only to be cut off by Skelter. "Hold up, Nines. Maybe it ain't such a good idea."

"Move out of the damn way, Skelter."

"You gotta calm down, bro."

One look was all it took for Skelter to change his mind, and quickly sidestepped out of the way, making sure to utter a quick 'sorry'. Normally he wasn't afraid to go fist-to-fist with anyone, but tonight, the storm brewing in the anarch leader was something none of them wanted a part of.

"Ugh, Skelter. No spine." Damsel muttered, as the three of them quickly followed their leader out of The Last Round.

**Meanwhile...**

Rosalynn groaned and rolled onto her back. From her spot on the floor, she was at the perfect angle to see the newly formed impression left in the wall courtesy of having her entire weight thrown into it. Pain bled from huge gashes to her shoulders, thanks to Jack's switchblade he'd buried in her after a burst of celerity, blended with potent throws of his fists. In all her recent memory, Rosalynn couldn't remember taking a beating like this one. And she sure felt it. Cursing softly, she dragged herself onto her knees and wiped the blood from her eyes. She blinked hard to rid her vision of the haze, but it was too late. Already a shadow cut across her, and she looked up just as Jack loomed over and spat on her.

He then dragged her up by one hand, and slammed another fist into her nose.

"C'mon, fuckin' lightweight. See, this is what happens when you have your little Cammy hordes do the dirty work for ya. Forgot how to fight, eh?" He taunted, and lifted her off the ground.

"I don't think so." Rosalynn seethed, her voice belonging to the rabid beast lurking just beneath her surface rather than a rational, proper Prince.

Showing Jack exactly what she meant, she levelled a brutal kick to his gut and fell from his grasp. Jack clutched his midsection and stumbled back, enough for Rosalynn to dart out of the way of his swinging fists. She took herself away from him long enough to gather her wits – and survey the damage she'd done to _him_.

A quick once over told the story of a short but vicious battle. Jack was bleeding as badly as she was, with several deep slashes decorating his face from where Rosalynn's nails tore through flesh. Superficial stab wounds to his chest retold her attempts to dig her makeshift stake into his chest, but Jack managed to dodge each attempt and wrestle it from her hands. It now lay somewhere amdist the rubble of the once-neat common room. Looking around, Rosalynn saw their imprints everywhere – shattered tables and chairs, the sofa torn to shreds and the television now a demolished wreck. Sparks of electricity gave it dying life.

Blood coloured the entire carpet an entirely new shade, and the walls were painted like canvasses in a blend of Rosalynn's and Jack's blood. The unholy concoction painted red across the white walls, leaving a telling trail of the destruction that happened so far.

"Still got some fight left in ya?" Jack's voice pulled Rosalynn back to her foe.

He was already making keen strides towards her. Jack threw out another arm, but this time Rosalynn saw it coming in time to slide out of the way. She spun around just as Jack did, though this time she was ready for him and managed to get a lock onto his eyes. Instantly, Jack faltered as Rosalynn levelled her domination at him with all the strength left in her body. Though she couldn't make him defy his nature, or turn his rage onto himself, she'd at least make it known to this unfortunate fool just how powerful she is.

Jack knew it for what it was though, and struggled to keep his arms from staying at his sides.

"Don't try an' dominate me, woman," He gruffed, shaking his head free of her domination. He still had enough strength in him to break eye contact – and with it, Rosalynn's domination.

It lasted long enough for Rosalynn to get out of his way once more, as Jack scooped up a large chuck of the television and ditched it at her. Rosalynn threw up her arms, in time to brace herself in fortitude. The television smashed into her, yet she stayed on her feet – unmoved by the incredible force that slammed into her. Rosalynn groaned into her hands, struggling to keep the pain at bay. Fortitude only went so far, and the searing shock that seized her muscles was incredible!

She shook off the dizzying aftershock, and looked over herself. No damage done, except her senses knocked a little loose. Jack marched for her, and backed her into the corner. Before Rosalynn completely realised where he was, he snatched her by her throat and lifted her against the wall.

"You ain't leavin' here by your own legs, sweetheart," Jack smirked, as he wiped the blood out of his eyes. "You're no match for me. Can't fuck me around like your little Camarilla bootlickers."

"We'll see about that," Rosalynn managed to get out, and tried to kick him again. Jack held her far enough out of the way to dodge each kick, and gleefully sniggered at Rosalynn's predicament.

But his joy was short-lived, when they heard an eruption of banging on the front door. It took Jack several seconds to remember hearing Kali lock themselves out aswhen they left.

"Jack, what the hell are you doing in there?" A muffled authoritative voice bellowed, one that Rosalynn didn't immediately recognise.

Not that she could, with all the blood clogging her ears. Jack cursed. Nines was back. He wondered then what would happen if he 'accidentally' ignored Isaac's advice, and threw this Camarilla mutt at Nines for him finish off. Feeling Rosalynn twisting uncomfortably, Jack looked at her and then at the door.

"Yeah, hold up, Nines. Be there in a minute." Jack called back to hush the persistent yells of his name.

"Open the goddamn door!"

"Fuck off, all of ya!"

Jack didn't have to tell them twice, but he knew Nines wouldn't back down given the mood he's in. The poor son of a bitch was going through God knows what shit, and certainly nothing Jack really cared to know about. Live or burn, that's his motto. And if you happen to do any shit that'll lead to you burning, then that's your business. That's the only code kindred need to survive on. Despite everything though, Nines a worthy opponent - one Jack knew he'd have no trouble putting down, as much as he hoped it wouldn't come to that. Four centuries of undead muscle trumped seven decades, any day.

Rosalynn knew an advantage when she saw it. With an awkward twist of her weight, she wrenched herself free of Jack's grip and took off out of the room.

"Hey, you ain't goin' nowhere!" Jack started her, but the distraction proved costly.

Celerity helped him get closer, but only enough to come face-to-door with the room the Rosalynn girl had locked herself in.

"Fuck!" Jack slammed his fists on the door. "You're a fuckin' idiot, sweet cheeks. You've just gone and trapped yourself!"

At that moment, a furious Nines Rodriguez broke through the haven door...

Panic-stricken, Rosalynn flattened herself against the door and threw across the chain lock before dropping to one knee. The fight, as brief as it had been, took more out of her than she thought it would. Then again, she knew going hand-to-hand with the legendary vampire was just asking for trouble. And bloodshed.

_What am I going to do now?_ Was the first panicked thought to break through the jumbled mess in her head.

Of all the fights she'd been in, this was the closest she'd come to Final Death since Jordan Malovski nearly decapitated her with a katana in Central Park. There is no way out – she's trapped inside an unfamiliar building, in an unfamiliar city, against a legendary anarch and his brood of mindless friends. And the mood in the city suggested what she suspected – they were already to slice and dice the next Camarilla member they happened across.

"Oh God..." Rosalynn breathed. "What next?"

This wasn't she expected or signed up for. That Strauss son of a bitch knew this was going to happen, he had to have known! But revenge she'd have to save for later, since there was a horde of angry anarch morons on her tail. Pushing the sudden bloodlust for Strauss' head on a silver platter, Rosalynn frantically searched the room.

It wasn't a complete mess, but its occupant certainly didn't pride himself on neatness. A messy bed, with its mattress half dragged onto the floor, a pile of crumpled clothes nearing Rosalynn's waist in height, and old cigars littering the floor were the main decorative measures the occupant employed. Certainly no place for a Prince to hide in. Rosalynn grimaced. Suddenly she did not feel so regal anymore – and hiding out like a beaten dog did not help her feel much better.

How on earth could she allow this to happen? Granted, Smilin' Jack was a formidable opponent, but to be cornered in an anarch-infested rat hole without the dignity of a proper means of elusion was not just beneath her, but the ultimate humiliation!

Voices interrupted her thoughts. A collusion of male and female voices, yelling at each other, forced Rosalynn to remember where she was. A quick search of the room led the Prince to the cluttered desk, strewn with various crumpled papers and documents – none of which caught her attention. Except one thing. A wallet.

"Where the hell is she?" A female voice shrieked.

"Jack, what happened? This place is a disaster zone!"

"This is insane." A deeper, baritone voice followed, this time a little closer to the room.

"Who are you all talking about?" Another male voice said.

Rosalynn gasped and spun around to find the door still safely locked. But with at least five kindred heading her way, it won't remain so for long. Turning her attention to the desk, she quickly detailed the documents. Camarilla, Sabbat and Kuei-Jin movements. Information on Regent Strauss. News clippings of the explosion that killed Sebastian Lacroix. A detailed itinerary of Anarch strategies. All of this translated into one thing in the Prince's mind – a gold mine! Rosalynn's eyes turned into saucers as she realised what this was. These could only belong to the leader of the Anarchs, or at the very least someone who had access to him.

"She's in here." Jack's voice boomed from just behind the door.

"Who is she?"

"See for yer self."

"Oh great, what do I do now?" Rosalynn quietly berated herself.

She's out of time. Scrambling together every document she could carry, including the wallet, Rosalynn searched for her means of escape. This was impossible. It wasn't the cleverest move she made, to run into a freakin' _bedroom_. There was no window, and the only other door led to a bathroom. A passing glance to the ceiling gave Rosalynn her salvation – the air vent!

"Thank you!"

She wasn't sure who she was thanking, but she never felt so grateful. Climbing onto the bed, she fumbled the documents in one arm until she managed the jerk the vent grate open. Rosalynn realised how badly she needed to feed, feeling so exhausted. The fight took a lot out of her. Making a mental note to _kill_ Jack the next time they crossed paths, she heaved herself into the vent – but not without a fight.

"Oww! Oh god..." she muttered, combating the fiery sensation shooting through her arm. "As soon as I get out of here, Strauss will have some explaining to do!"

Outside his room, Nines yanked the doorknob. It was locked. Some little Camarilla bitch decided to seek refuge in _his_ room? It'll take months to clean that stench out, unless he handled business right now.

"Out of my way," he ordered everyone.

Just like the Red Sea, the other four parted and Nines threw a mean kick into the door. Effortlessly the door blew off its hinges, and the five Anarchs stormed the room – just in time to see a designer boot pull up into the air vent.

"Fuck!" Nines cursed, and threw out an arm to stop Damsel rushing in.

"Nines, let me go!" Damsel protested. "I'll finish that Cammy whore off!"

"Damsel, no!"

"You know what, fuck this. I'm going!" Damsel shoved aside Nines, and nearly made it to the vent before he caught up to her.

Circling an arm around Damsel's waist, Nines easily hoisted her off the bed. The size difference between them made it even easier for him to ignore her wild thrashing.

"Damsel, stop!" He roared, and threw her onto the floor. Ignoring the scathing look Damsel threw at him, Nines turned to the others. "_I'll_ take care of this one. After tonight I'm seriously in the mood to whoop the unlife outta whoever the fuck she is."

"Whatever, I've had enough of this shit." Jack muttered.

"Nines, that ain't a good idea—" Skelter started, until Jack punched his arm.

"Fuck it. Let Nines find out on his own."

Nines regarded them suspiciously. "Find out _what_?"

Jack pulled aside Kali, opening up a clear path of exit. "See for yourself, man. There's only one way outta those vents."

The truth was, he was tired of this political crap. A random fight with a random Camarilla royal harpy meant nothing to him. Tired of the bullshit, Jack moved to Nines side and gave the reluctant leader a hard shove towards the door. Not that he needed it. Before the others realised it, Nines was already gone – ready to meet his mystery foe in a battle to the death.

* * *

**Note: I know, again not the best chater written. When I get time, I'm going to revise the writing :) Coming up in the next chapter - Nines is hot on the heels of Rosalynn, and later on, Strauss moves another chess piece in his quest to rid Los Angeles of the Kuei-Jin, and finally force the Anarchs into submission.**


	9. Chapter 9

**Rekindled Humanity – Chapter Nine**

**Note:** Sorry for the delay in updates, I've been dealing with exams as well as my mum being very sick. She's recovering well though, so all is coming good again :)

This is only a very small chapter, as I'll work on adding more to the story within the next week.

**Summary: Nines closes in on Rosalynn**

* * *

**Outside**

She hit the ground running. Rosalynn's feet smashed the ground, though her impact barely made a sound. She didn't know where she was going, but only knew that staying around any longer meant Final Death. Trust a guy with a name like 'Maximillian Strauss' to be sinister enough to set her up like this. Didn't he know who he was dealing with?

The barely lit passage across the road from the bar was the only means of escape. Rosalynn did not bother to check and see if she was being followed, of course she was. Five brainless Anarchs chasing her down wasn't what she envisioned her night to be like, but at least they were a predictable bunch. Ironically, for a bunch of dead cretins they sure carried a lot of hot blood beneath their ashen skin.

Rosalynn flew down the narrow alley, barely careening out of the way in time before hitting the door at the end. The alley was as filthy as that blasted haven! Rosalynn easily hopped over the fallen trashcans, and dodged the totally unappetising bums that roamed around. None of them gave much concern to the vague blend of colours that danced around them, as Rosalynn burned through the last of her energy to carry her as far away from that bar as possible.

Of all the ridiculous situations she'd been embroiled in her time, this was by far the worst! She couldn't begin to fathom what Lucas would think of her situation! Fancy having to run from a bunch of brute thugs, with no more than single brain cell shared between them. Rosalynn nearly gagged on that thought. Sliding to her knees, she easily carried herself through the gaping hole in the chain link fence on her way to freedom.

But it was quickly clear to her how much she needed to feed. Upon getting to her feet, Rosalynn suspended herself against the fence as a hungry growl from her inner beast made her forget what she was doing.

"Oh no." She hugged her belly, and shook her head free of the hunger vice.

Just wait a little longer. A sweeping survey of the few alley occupants gave her the only options she had – and none of the five bums loitering around, clueless to the danger of her presence, was much good. She is Ventrue. She gains nothing from the pitiful scum of society; their blood worthless. But the hunger persisted, forcing the Prince to her knees.

"This won't be good..." Rosallyn gritted out, and cried out shrilly when her inner beast made itself known. In a few minutes, she'll be in total frenzy mode – and completely at the mercy of an Anarch's fists.

It was out of sheer desperation and anguish that forced Rosalynn's hand to make a drastic decision. Utterly disdaining what she had to do, Rosalynn squeezed her eyes shut but couldn't hide the disdain she felt as she reached for the nearest rat...

**Meanwhile...**

Nines took one determined step into the night, scanning the nearly empty street. He sniffed the air. Perfume-laden stench blew his senses into overdrive.

"Ugh. Stench of the Camarilla poster girl."

At his side, he steadied the 12-gauge shotgun – his finger hovering over the trigger. Wherever this girl was, he'll find her. And if she insisted, he'll gladly go hand-to-hand. He'd rather reach down her throat and tear out her trachea with his bare hands before feeding her entrails to the werewolves – but a shotgun does the job just as well. Best be prepared for whatever cronies she had covering her ass.

Following the kindred's trail, Nines wasn't in a hurry. The Prince probably didn't figure she'd be hunted down tonight, or else she was a moron for dressing herself in perfume _and_ starting a fight that left a blood trail a mile long. Nines didn't mind. Tonight he'll _enjoy_ taking his time to cut this one open.

The brooding leader followed the trail. He highly doubted this one was in good shape – any Prince worth its damned soul would've made sure _some_ poor, unsuspecting bastard cleaned up her mess.

Nines made cautious steps through the alley, bypassing the dimly lit door. That's when things took a darker turn, just the way he liked it. At the end of the passage, a fire in a barrel gave him just enough light to guide his path.

Suddenly, the silence was obliterated by this cell phone.

"What?" Nines barked, not particularly caring who it was.

"Don't do it, Nines." Isaac's voice sternly warned, sans any greeting.

Nines rolled his eyes, despite knowing the other man couldn't see it. Just what he needs, another lecture from the Anarch's resident parental figure. Isaac did his best to reign in the energetic inclinations of his younger Brujah brethren, and always in a respectful way. He did his best to uphold the Anarch cause via a more diplomatic approach, as compared to Nines' hard-hitting methods.

"Forget about it, Abrams. A Prince has the balls to step onto my turf, then she deserves to die." Nines countered, knowing exactly what his older friend was going to say.

At the other end of the line, he heard a heavy sigh.

"Nines, it's more complicated than that. Damsel told me about the situation with Strauss..."

"I'm gonna kill her."

"_And_ I understand you're under a considerable amount of stress, but you need to stop and think for a moment. Killing another Prince, particularly this one, will drag New York's problems here. We do not have the resources to withstand an attack from the east!"

"You know Isaac, right now I really don't give a fuck what it does. She steps in my city, and I'll tear her goddamn head off." Nines meant every word of it.

"Just think about what you're doing!"

In Hollywood, Isaac Abrams paced nervously behind his desk at the back of his human front – the jewellery store. Sweeping a hand through his hair, he furiously tried to think of a way to stop Nines. Then again, he could only imagine what would happen if and when Nines discovers just _who_ this New York Prince actually is.

It didn't take him long to discover the truth – not when Gary decided to make a return, with that emaciated face of his popping up from the sewer exit in the alley next door. Isaac remembered the conversation well, as much as it sickened him to remember his dealings with the Nosferatu vermin.

Gary's disgusting snigger was all it took for Isaac to nearly lose control. And he can't lose control, he refuses to. Despite the awkward brutishness of his Anarch brothers and sisters, he prided himself on control and discipline, and leading as an example to the Anarch community.

The exchange only took two minutes, but in that time Gary managed to stun Isaac nearly into a coma. The Nosferatu leader told him everything – about his contact in New Jersey phoning in some very juicy information, about one Maximillian Strauss' request for the mortal records pertaining to the one and only Prince of New York, a Ms Rosalynn Rodriguez. Gary explained it all – how his contact, who kept tabs on everything to do with the Prince, received an alert on his computer regarding access to New Jersey's government archives of births, deaths and marriages – and the identity of the Prince. Of course, no record search would be complete without detailing the woman's unfulfilled mortal life – including the name of her husband.

By this time, Isaac was hooked and demanded to know even more – and he'd get it, just at an escalated price. But it was worth it. Despite his hatred of the Nosferatu, Isaac bargained with Gary for the remaining information. Namely, Prince Rosalynn's arrival in Los Angeles. Despite being a grubby little weasel, Gary made good on his word, and had his contact fax copies of Rosalynn's birth and marriage certificates. He even added a bonus – a birth and death certificate for a little girl, one Emily Rodriguez. Nines' daughter.

Needless to say, Gary left the Baron stunned – and in a race against time to prevent Nines from ever finding this Prince. The risks were too great to calculate, and Isaac knew nothing good ever came from dwelling on one's history. But then again, he never expected that one's history could actually become one's reality - and surely nothing good could come from Nines discovering his past.

"Isaac? You there?" Nines' voice pulled Isaac from his memories, and the Baron cleared his throat.

"Oh, yes Nines. Forgive me. Listen closely, boy... where are you?"

"Jack got into a slugging match with the mangy bitch, she took off. She's injured though, she can't have gotten far."

Nines sniffed the air. Her scent still lingered close by, so she must be hurt. Toying the shotgun in his free hand, he started along the back alley again, this time at a slower pace. The girl wasn't going anywhere, not in her condition.

"What makes you so sure?" Isaac wondered sceptically.

"She's Ventrue. Nothin' else around here but street bums and rats. She won't get a good feed anytime soon, and since she doesn't know these streets it'll be like shootin' fish in a barrel."

"Nines, it's not a good idea. Leave her be." Isaac warned, stretching to find the words to convince the hotheaded revolutionist to _not_ find her. "We have bigger things to worry about. Like the Kuei-Jin."

"That can wait. Strauss and I have made a deal, and I've made sure the Camarilla will honour it." Nines searched behind a few dumpsters, but no sign of the Prince was there. Not far away, he sighted more blood_._

"Trust me, Nines – finding the Prince won't achieve anything! Why are you so eager to dispatch her?"

"Because right now I'm not exactly hospitable to _another_ piece of Camarilla shit trolling through here and claiming territory. And if she stays, then the east coast drama will find a way here anyway. Besides, I'm really in the mood to kill something right now."

Funnily enough, Nines' bloodlust extended not much further than finding this Prince. Something about her presence here irked him, and not just because of what she was. The nerve of some Prince, some _woman_, waltzing into Los Angeles with enough arrogance to believe she wasn't going to become another casualty in this war, was enough for him. The satisfaction of ripping her head off her neck with his bare hands drew a hungry growl from the depths of his gut.

"Normally I wouldn't be so bothered by this, Nines. But please, let her go. Don't do anything rash!"

"Sorry, man... but there's one Camarilla too many in this city."

"Nines wai-!"

Nines wasn't about to be talked down from his blood rage. And he made that perfectly clear to Isaac, when he ended the call and made a point to turn off his phone. Tonight, no more interruptions. He was going to hunt this bitch out, and have her staked and turned to ash before sunrise.

"And a few cavities blasted through her skull too..." Nines finished the thought aloud, and checked his weapon.

In no time, he navigated the entire distance of back alley, only to find a more curious trail other than blood...

"Well no shit..." Nines chuckled, and kneeled down in front of the dead rat. He prodded it with the barrel of the gun. "A Ventrue cunt suckin' on some rats. Bitch must be desperate..."

_And not too far away_ He mentally added, dabbing his thumb into the still-warm residual blood coating the rat's fur.

Ventrues would rather fry than lower themselves to such degrading acts as draining rats. That fact only made Nines all the more curious to find her - A Ventrue Prince, willing to fight hand-to-hand combat, particularly with an old timer like Jack, _and_ be willing to nurse on rat's blood? This girl is one of a kind... and begging to be put down.

The Camarilla must be getting desperate – why else would they resort to fighting dirty like this? Then again, nothing surprised him much these days.

Searching the narrow confines of the alley, and way beyond the reach of artificial light, Nines zeroed is supernatural vision on every corner he could find. Behind the dumpster... nothing. Behind the mountain of debris? No one. Where the hell did she go?

"Fuck this." Nines muttered, and trekked back down the path he came.

This was going to be harder than he envisioned. And another long, bloodsoaked night.

* * *

**Note: **I'll try get another, longer chapter up as soon as I can :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter Ten**

**Note: **Okay, managed to complete this chapter quicker than I imagined.

**Summary: **Rosalynn discovers just who her pursuer is.

**

* * *

**

**WITH ROSALYNN**

An agonised scream was muffled by only the power of her hands. Lfeaning against the air vent, atop the roof of the apartment building, Rosalynn rocked back and forth hoping to channel the pain out somehow. But when she felt it leave her, a fresh attack held her hostage to the vent, coiled against it like some cornered, pathetic animal. Bound to her distress, Rosalynn howled into her hands. But this wasn't physical pain. Of all the pain she _could_ feel as the walking undead, an emotional crippling isn't what she imagined. This pain was an emotional gash that shredded the last of her humanity clean out her chest, edging her ever closer to harnessing her inner beast. Curled up against the vent, knees-to-chest, Rosalynn hid her anguish away from the world. Her emotional core was gone, twisted from her heart only to be thrown back in her face.

It happened the moment she investigated the wallet. Only minutes earlier, the rats blood – as putrid and abominable as it had to swallow it down – gave her just the quick burst of energy she needed to propel herself up the drain pipe attached to the wall, mere seconds before she heard footsteps tracing her path. While waiting for her wounds to close up, she remembered the wallet she'd stuffed into her pocket. Of all the expectations she had of this anarch leader, what she discovered the moment she opened it was something she'd never braced for. As soon as glanced upon her own, mortal face grinning next to that of Emily's, a horrible fiery sensation ruptured every sensibility she claimed.

Years of discipline wasn't nearly enough to neutralise the pain that followed next, as in that same span of a heartbeat, her fingers touched on the New Jersey driver's license – with none other than her beloved husband's stoic, human face staring back at her. Rosalynn couldn't describe the moment. Nines' eyes penetrated seventy years of distance, to plunge a hot sword of humanity through her chest – and then strip it away, taking the last of her resolve with it. His face conjured the sweet memories - memories that teased her into a state of madness that any Malkavian would relish.

Her heart shed bloody tears that her condition couldn't bring to her eyes. But still, Rosalynn cried. Her soul sobbed for her lost love.

The second she touched the photo, and his license, Rosalynn dropped the items. For all it mattered, they might as well have been lit on fire. All three faces, her own included, radiated happier times. A time in her existence when she wasn't a wretched monster that harvested the unlives of lowly kindred beneath her, in order to retain her stranglehold on New York. A time when she was a simple mother, and wife – surrounded by love, not hate. Warmth, not cold. Light, not darkness. The simple joys of humanity she treasured so much now, but took for granted then.

_Oh god... oh god... oh god..._ Rosalynn chanted over and over in her head.

It was a good thing she didn't need to breathe, or else she would've passed out a long time ago.

Anguish that snagged her heart swelled into something she couldn't steel herself against. All these years, Rosalynn only had the memory of his face – his face that now stared back at her, as though pulled directly from her mind.

For so many years her unbeating heart cried for him, yearned for him, and threatened to leap into life again at the mere reverence of his memory. And yet Nines' face belonged only to her memory; the only thing she had left to defeat the monster in her.

"I'm going mad, this is insane!" Rosalynn wept into her palms. "This is not real."

_How on earth does this anarch leader come to possess my husband's wallet_? And it is his wallet! It belonged to Nines, she was sure of it. Decades of distance didn't erase Rosalynn's ability to recognise her own handiwork.

Daring to pick up the wallet for the first time since she'd confronted it, Rosalynn handled it like a timid child. She had to bring it close to see for sure, and her stomach lurched when he fears were confirmed. She traced a thumb over the wallet's fine stitching. This was her work.

Instantly she transported back in time, to the memory of the day she crafted the wallet: 1922, the year of her marriage – when, as a 16-year-old bride-to-be, she gave herself over the rugged construction worker who had stolen her heart by the end of their first conversation. Rosalynn bowed her head, paying humble respect to that one moment. She made this for him, not long after their rushed wedding only weeks after he 'saved' her from a disastrous engagement to one of her father's business colleague's sons. That was the beauty of being 'young, dumb and in love' – with a falsified birth certificate, and quickie elopement being all she needed to seal her life with his.

Rosalynn clutched the photograph of her and Emily. Seeing her baby's face, after so many years of fighting to keep alive her memory, drew her to the darkest recesses of her mind. In her other hand, Rosalynn looked upon Nines' face. She rubbed her thumb over the image, finishing revisiting that first memory she made of him, the night they met - the night she gave in to pure infatuation. Whether it was teenage hormones or something deeper that passed between them, it didn't matter. All Rosalynn knew from that night on, she was his.

In contemporary times, looking back on that night made it all feel surreal – like it didn't happen. There was an air of romanticism that night, something confined these days to sappy romance novels and movies. But it actually happened for Rosalynn. She lived that romance, and a life that most kine today would dismiss as pathetic fantasies of a young woman.

Nines discovering her in New York, after she'd run away from her cotillion, was the greatest night of her life. From that moment on, her life and her perspective of the world was not the same. After returning Rosalynn to her parents, Nines stayed with her as she announced her intentions to not marry – and that she would no longer attend the society circles that defined her mother and father's life. Amidst the protests and her father's rage, that nearly culminated in him beating the life out of her had Nines not intervened, Rosalynn remembered the changes she went through. Suddenly it was no longer important to be popular. Wealth was still important to a certain degree, but that would change as her life with Nines Rodriguez began.

Looking back on that time, she was proud of the person she became – thanks to him. And she should have been wiser back then to the reality that no fairytale happiness lasts forever. The best she could reason it was that she was just a young girl. Eternally optimistic and actually _happy_.

The pain in her chest eased enough for her to properly study the pictures. Rosalynn brought the photo of her and Emily to her lips, and kissed her daughter's image. She did the same for Nines' driver's license.

"What happened to you, my loves?" She whispered to them both, her voice drowned in sadness.

She knew what happened to Nines, mostly. Based on a compilation of stories from Marius, and from what other higher-ranked Camarilla members told her over the years, the Anarchs viewed him as a major threat to their operations. They disposed of him during a raid. His Final Death became her unlife's drive for power, to rid New York and the entire east coast of the Anarch scum once and for all. To this date, she'd yet to make good on the promise she made him the night she discovered his fate – but not anymore. Maybe starting in these next few nights, Rosalynn could find some answers – and deliver some bodies to the altar of vengeance.

"I'm sorry," she whispered to his picture, and kissed it again. "I promise to make it right."

And she knew just where to start. Reaching into her pocket, Rosalynn retrieved her phone and dialled for the only person in the world she trusted to help her. Several rings later, a weary voice answered...

"Hello?"

"Lucas... its Rosalynn."

At the other end of the line, she heard him gasp. "Oh my god, Miss Rosalynn! Are you alright, I-?"

"I'm fine, I'm fine. Listen I don't have time to get into an argument, I need you to do me a favour."

A brief pause told her that Lucas was weighing up his choices – hold off interrogating her about running off the way she did and do as she asks, or be the friend to her he always has been by grilling for being so reckless. It didn't take long for him to make up his mind. He sighed.

"Anything, Rosalynn. What do you need?" Right now, Rosalynn sounded like she didn't need a friend – just compliance.

"I need you to get on the Camarilla Intranet. Run a search on someone through the archival files, one name."

"Yes, ma'am. What is the name?"

Rosalynn paused and held up the driver's license. "Nines Rodriguez."

"Nines Rodrigues?" Lucas repeated, sounding puzzled. "Odd name."

Beyond her control, Rosalynn's lips formed a faint, affectionate smile. She remembered her own reaction when Nines first introduced himself to her, at Grand Central Station.

"Yes, it is." She quietly agreed.

Then, Lucas picked up on another – more obvious – thing. "Rodriguez... is that any relation...?" He trailed off.

Rosalynn heaved a dramatic sigh. "It's a long story, old friend. One best saved for a safer night."

"Very well, ma'am."

She heard the clacking of fingers against a keyboard at the end of the line. No doubt Lucas was searching as fast as possible, anticipating her foul mood should he dawdle.

"Hmm. Interesting." Lucas murmured after a silent minute.

"What is it?" Rosalynn anxiously toyed the photograph and driver's license between her fingers.

"The Camarilla network shows a lot of entries that are password encrypted. Might take a few minutes to crack these, hold on."

Again, she heard more keyboard typing – clearly Lucas was busying himself in trying to break open secure locks. It gave Rosalynn time to think. Whatever is locked behind those encryptions must be important information, specifically engineered so only the top circle of Camarilla members could access.

"Miss Rosalynn?" Lucas voice broke through the plethora of horrible, panicked thoughts plaguing his Prince.

"Yes?"

"Are you well? You sound very tired... are you hurt?"

Rosalynn's brows quirked amusedly as she looked over herself. The bloody slash marks drawn through her flesh by shards of glass; the lumpy swells of flesh and broken bones courtesy of Smilin' Jack's savage fists, didn't paint her in a pretty way. Rat's blood was wasted on the body of a Ventrue. Rosalynn sighed again.

"I've seen better nights." She admitted sadly, without recounting the details.

"What happened?"

"Nothing for you to be concerned with." _Yet_, she added silently. "But I'm beginning to suspect Maximillian Strauss' intentions are not as benign as I initially thought."

"What do you mean?"

Rosalynn heard the slight urgent edge in Lucas' tone. "He sent me into a snake's pit. An Anarch hellhole. That bastard had to have known what would happen... _I _should've known what would happen given the mood between factions in this city."

"What did happen?" Lucas pressed.

Rosalynn hesitated before answering. "I ended up in a fight with an Anarch – Smilin' Jack."

Lucas gasped. Though it was unusual for any Prince to become involved in a physical altercation, with Rosalynn he knew better. "Oh my word… the real deal, Smilin' Jack? The pirate?"

"Oh yes. He and I had quite the encounter. I have never fought anyone like him. Nor, I suspect, shall I fight anyone like him again. We were quite evenly matched. That is, until some of his colleagues decided to return."

"What about you? Are you well?"

"Barely. I escaped through an air vent, and I suspect the Anarch leader – whom I am looking forward to meeting – is closing in on me. But the encounter with Jack has taken a lot out of me, and I have only been able to snatch a feed on rats. My strength wanes, and won't quickly return unless I find a proper meal. I'm hurt, Lucas. Really badly." Rosalynn admitted, plunging into despair as she recounted the night's events in detail. Not since her fight with Jordan, had she felt so stupid – and vulnerable.

She hadn't intended on being so honest, but by the end Rosalynn couldn't hold anything back. She deliberately left out the discovery of her husband's wallet – and the reason why she needed this search done.

"Miss, I—"

"Listen, Lucas – I shall explain everything upon my return, but for now I need you to concentrate." Rosalynn forced the authority back into her voice.

"Yes, forgive me."

As she waited, Rosalynn tilted her throbbing head back until it lightly tapped the air vent – and let her gaze search the sky. The stars blurred together as her senses tried to return to normal function. She still felt a bit woozy. Damn that Jack – he is definitely on her 'to do' list now. Risk be damned, she'll at least have a fair crack at killing him before leaving Los Angeles. Or else she'll hire someone more capable for the job – someone more expendable than her.

And then there's the mystery of this Anarch leader. Rosalynn frowned. What is his connection to Nines? Perhaps, just maybe, he's the one who killed her husband all those decades ago. If so, then these next few nights will definitely be his last. Or maybe he was involved somehow. Not that it mattered, she'll still find him and squeeze the truth from the bastard's unbeating heart. Just the thought of how her Nines must have died, brought an unexpected lump to her throat. Bottled emotion never did her much good in life, and festered a lot more potently in death. With time meaningless, all one had to live with endlessly were the memories of one's former life. Rosalynn let out a strangled cry into the night.

"Miss Rosalynn?" Lucas again interrupted her thoughts.

"Yes?"

"Okay, I've cracked the encryptions. And let me tell you, there are a lot of files on a 'Nines Rodriguez'. Most of them recent sightings, encounters, etcetera. Seems like the higher-ups think he's important enough to warrant 'high priority' status, as well."

Rosalynn sat up, dragging a hand over her ivory features. How can that be? Nines was murdered decades ago. Something about this didn't feel right.

"Lucas..." She whispered, to hide her trembling voice. "Listen to me very carefully... I want you to save all of those files. Print them. Keep them somewhere safe. But first I want you to read me every one of those files. Tell me everything there is about him."

Though she was sure it wasn't possible, Rosalynn felt her heart flip in her chest as she braced herself for seven decades worth of pain. The story she knew, from her sire, was that Nines was killed because he was a threat to the Anarchs. But for some reason, with his picture sitting in the palm of her hand, she knew that couldn't be the whole truth – if it was the truth at all...

"Are you sure, Miss? Perhaps you should rest." Lucas suggested.

"There's no time! Tell me what there is. Leave nothing out!"

Rosalynn wished she was ready to hear it. But the moment Lucas began speaking, that wish proved to be only that – a distant wish...

**MEANWHILE...**

For the third time in as little as ten minutes, Nines paced the length of the alley and back again. Impatience made him scour every conceivable hiding place, to no avail. How was it possible that she managed to escape? Her scent still lingered so close it actually drowned out the stench of the street bums still loitering around. Even the sight of his shotgun didn't move them into hiding.

"Goddamn it!" Nines hissed, stalking out of the alley like a predator just denied its next meal. And that's exactly what he was.

High and low he searched, but found nothing.

"Nines!"

He turned around just as Skelter, Damsel, Jack and Kali all came running out of the haven.

"Isaac called, he's pissed—" Damsel started but stopped the moment she recognised the murderous look on Nines' face.

"I take it you didn't find her." Jack chuckled, now fully healed. A few pints of blood kindly 'donated' by some of the local homeless worked wonders in closing up the holes he earned from that Prince-chick.

"She's bleeding out, but the girl is quick." Nines said. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Isaac called; he wants _us_ to get _you_ to back down on the hunt." Kali quickly explained, the way a guilty child addressed an angry parent.

"And that's exactly what you ain't gonna be doing!" Nines growled at her.

"Nines, maybe you should cool off a bit." Skelter tried – but he could see nothing was going to bring Nines back to reason.

"Where did she go?" Damsel looked around, sniffing the air. "She's close."

"No shit. I know where she's gone. She's gotta be on the roof. I'm gonna meet her there. Damsel, Skelter... you guys should go pay our local Regent a friendly visit. Make sure he understands the terms of our deal." Nines told his closest colleagues, knowing they'd do it. Without waiting for them to respond, he turned to Kali and Jack. "You two should head over to Isaac, see what needs to be done to put L.A. on lockdown."

"Heh, no fuckin' way, man. I got... _business_... to attend to. I ain't got time to babysit her." Jack jerked a thumb in Kali's direction – and earned a sullen glare from the young kindred in return.

Nines rolled his eyes. Out of the four of them, Jack was the one he couldn't order around. "Fine, whatever. Kali, you can handle it alone. Just try not to scare yourself into final death on the way over, k?"

"Fuck you, Nines. I'm not scared." Kali bravely replied, with false conviction.

"Ya sure, blondie," Damsel laughed. "That's not what ya said last time you were in Hollywood! Hey Skelter, maybe we should lock her in the cemetery again!"

Skelter and Damsel laughed up a riot, and Kali snarled at them for revisiting that horrible memory of one of her first nights as a vampire – walking alone in the cemetery, where she was ambushed by a bunch of zombies. She got out okay, but the girl was hysterical when she flung herself at Nines' feet upon his 'rescuing her'. Kali was a hopeless mess in her early nights and still wasn't strong on her feet to this day. But as far as delivering messages went, the girl was an A-class gossiper and spent all her time playing with her computer or cell phone. Communication is her talent.

"I don't got time for this." Nines grumbled and looked behind him – up to the rooftop of the apartment block. "I gotta go."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, Nines, hold up," Jack clamped a hand on Nines' shoulder, stopping him from going anywhere.

While the three younger kindred busied themselves in acting like total fools, he dragged Nines off to the side and actually became serious.

"You sure you wanna be doing this?" Jack asked in a low voice, keeping one eye on the others – Kali, Skelter and Damsel had stopped laughing, and were now watching them from a safe distance.

Nines didn't even think about the question. He shrugged Jack's hand from his shoulder.

"Don't get in my way on this, Jack." He answered softly, making sure Jack saw the determination in his eyes. "I gotta end her before she brings her shit over here."

"You sure that's all what this is about?" Jack frowned thoughtfully, sensing something amiss.

"That's _all_ this is about." Nines easily lied. "Don't try and stop me on this one."

"Bah. What the fuck do I care? This is your war, not mine. Just be careful, is all." The warning was as grim as Jack's expression – as much as he didn't get involved the politics and war, Jack still gave a damn about his brothers and sisters. These young ones, Nines included, often acted before they thought out a situation. And all too often Jack saw many die for that reason.

Nines nodded. "Don't worry about me. Another Cammy head is gonna roll tonight."

A smirk appeared on Jack's lips. "Hey, she's a hot-lookin' Prince. Maybe ya could _get _some head-action while you're at it." He laughed, but then noted the edge in Nines' eyes. Jack turned serious again. "Just get back here with your head still on your neck, ya hear?"

Usually he never bothered with such words of concern, especially for Nines Rodriguez. But tonight's fight took a lot out of Jack; the Prince surprised him – she definitely could fight, and had a vicious streak. The more Jack thought about it, the more he couldn't help but place that Prince on-par with Nines when it came to combat – which only heightened the chance that it might not be Nines who deals the final blow.

"I mean it, boy." Jack said darkly, and jabbed a finger in Nines' face. "You better get back here in one piece. For _them_. For your cause. Get it?"

It was subtle reminder to the Anarch leader that there was more at stake tonight than just Nines' personal demons. Nines stiffened, but gave a sharp nod. That was all Jack needed to step aside, and let the younger kindred pass him. Carrying his shotgun to the alley once more, Nines stopped only once to look over his shoulder. He looked each of them.

"Remember, this war is ours to lose. Show Strauss and them Camarilla fucks no mercy." Leaving those as his parting words, Nines took off for where he knew was a way up to the roof...

The others stared after him – all completely aware of how inappropriate Damsel's next off-the-cuff comment was.

"Man, he needs to get laid."

**WITH ROSALYNN…**

Horror didn't begin to describe what she had learned. Rosalynn stared dead ahead, without focus or clear thought. After what she just learned, just thinking alone was a chore. In two minutes, her entire world – the world she constructed for herself, with the help of her sire – crumbled into nothing. That is, if the information Lucas had recited had any hint of truth to it.

She was on her feet, but not for long if reality and gravity had its way. Rosalynn massaged her palms together the way she always did when in a tight spot. At her feet lay the shattered remains of her cell phone. She did away with it right after she said goodbye to Lucas, and just uttering that word was hard enough. Rosalynn stood like royalty, her face not betraying the hysterical play of emotions threatening to turn her almost human again.

To the world, she was a calm and calculating diplomat. Inwardly, Rosalynn fought a valiant struggle to overcome the ravaging assault of emotions that just about crippled her.

Everything she knew was a lie, according to Lucas. She never told him of her past, or her reasons for choosing to fight the Camarilla cause, so it came as no surprise to her when he fired off a dozen or so questions regarding _why_ she needed him to breach nearly every encrypted Camarilla server to find more information on this Nines Rodriguez fellow. Rosalynn did what she did best – she bluffed her way out, albeit with a half-assed explanation that it was critical information in her negotiations with Regent Strauss.

Naturally, Lucas didn't believe her. But what he believed is not really a concern of hers. Knowing exactly who chased her now, does.

Sweeping a trembling hand over her hair, Rosalynn's face finally cracked with readable anguish. Reaching in her pocket, she found the drivers license and the photograph – but it was the licence that held her gaze. His face. The one that, in a matter of minutes, she'll stand across from for the first time in decades. She couldn't grasp the flood of emotions that held her still to that one spot, but it hurt like hell. A clutter of questions knocked her usually sharp senses completely of whack, leaving the hotheaded Ventrue Prince barely able to register the sudden intrusion of a new alcohol-and-cigar laden scent that broke through the usual horrid smells of the LA air. Swinging into panic-mode, Rosalynn searched around through frantic eyes, but found nothing. He's close, that much she was sure of.

All-in-all, she had taken the news of the Anarch leader's identity quite well. At least in her mind. When Lucas told her that Nines Rodriquez still exists, she didn't scream. When he told her that Nines Rodriguez is – and always has been – a significant player in the Anarch movement, Rosalynn didn't bat an eyelid. Then, when Lucas 'discovered' Nines to be the one she's been hunting – the celebrated, phantom Anarch leader of the Los Angeles domain... well, Rosalynn didn't panic. She didn't lose her mind into grief. She didn't act like the pathetic, anemic woman she was in life. Conditioned to receiving devastating news with nothing more than a twitch of her lip, Rosalynn kept herself in check long enough to address Lucas with further instructions to print and keep every single document on Nines, and that she'll be in contact with him tomorrow night. Then she hung up – and _that_ is when she lost only a small measure of control.

Surprisingly enough, the expected tsunami of human emotions never came. The only rise she saw was that of her hand as she threw down the cell phone in a sporadic fit of anger. Numbness ensnared her entire being, so that she couldn't move even if she desired to. She could not run or hide, and was trapped inside herself – unable to direct a single mental command into action.

Then, it was back to stoicism. Years of well-crafted self-discipline, one could call her a master of technique. After all, emotion is just another dimension of humanism to be mastered.

"So it seems... Maximillian Strauss, you cunning fool. You set us up on this collision course." Rosalynn whispered to the night sky as though she were speaking it to that dirty rat.

Closing her eyes, she breathed in a calming dose of air she didn't need. Still, it felt nice – the cool air nursing the stabbing sensation from her chest enough to alleviate the swell of mortal emotion. When she was sure of herself, she opened her eyes. Little-by-little, the numbness was dying. And little-by-little, she felt hot pangs where a heartbeat should have been. It was as close to feeling alive again as she had ever felt – and the sensation was, if nothing else, foreign. The teasing of a distant memory.

Never in her wildest imagination (and it is wild), did she contemplate Marius lying to her. Her sire cared for her, loved her as a father would a daughter, and showed her how to own the night! He was the one who confessed Nines' embrace, and subsequent Final Death. He was the one to convince her to fight for the Camarilla organisation, to avenge her Camarilla-loyal husband. He'd never lie to her, never!

True to form, Rosalynn waited for the shock to happen – to feel the devastation; to feel _something_ . Nothing came. Perhaps it's just as well, given that in seconds she'll come face to face with the man she vowed to avenge. And then… reality slammed into her just when she convinced herself it wouldn't come. Clutching one hand over her chest and the other over her mouth, Rosalynn hung her head.

"My god..." Rosalynn whispered; her words shaky. Her entire being trembled, to her very core. Anguish supplanted any reason she had to string together another thought, as she hid her face in her hand.

Everything struck her hard and fast now – Nines was never Camarilla; he never fought for them. The Anarchs never murdered him; he was _leading_ them! Marius lied to her for all these years, deceiving her as easily has he deceived all the fledgling whelps that surrounded them! And just like that, seventy years of misplaced visceral hatred forced the hardhearted Prince to her knees, and she let out an angry roar into the palms of her hands.

"This cannot be! It cannot be true."

Denial felt wonderful, but it did not dull the potency of Lucas' revelations. Heat blended with an explosion memories; countless faces sprang up in her mind – some nameless ones, whom she couldn't place; others very familiar ones, whom she recalled intimate dealings with... and all were kindred she had murdered for the sake of vengeance.

Jordan Malovski, being one.

"No, no, no! Lies! Dirty, wicked lies!" In the throes of unimaginable hurt, Rosalynn ploughed a tight fist straight through the clay roof tiles. The thick material shattered instantly, enveloping the blood-soaked Prince in a cloud of clay dust.

The pain of the wound gave little relief to the sensation that seized Rosalynn. Hunching over, she face-planted the roof; the cold surface singeing her with slight relief to the crippling burn of memories. She clawed at her chest, at some imagined wound. The feeling was something she could not place. Entrenched somewhere between wondrous elation that Nines could possibly still be 'alive', and crippling denial that all her seven decades of her unlife was a lie, her eyes squeezed shut again. She couldn't bear to turn around and confront a reality she never believed possible. All these years, she never questioned her maker or anyone else who furthered the lies, just to win her favour.

Rosalynn carried the weight of the realisation on her face. A mix of disbelief and horror bled from her eyes, and she could barely keep her mouth clamped shut long enough to sequester the scream teasing the back of her throat. She had to swallow it down, lest it betray her location to her pursuer – her own husband.

"No, not him... it's all lies." Rosalynn whispered into the tile. Please, God – or anyone – don't let it be him.

It took a mighty effort to bring herself up onto her knees, but once she was up she had a good view of the moon. Turning to it, she didn't know whether to plead with it or curse it.

A quick flick through the pages of her unlife revealed just how deep the lie extended, like a cancer. More than _seventy goddamn years_ fighting against an enemy that wasn't hers! Such was too much for Rosalynn to believe. Right now, she has to get out of here. Out of Los Angeles, hell, out of America. Somewhere far away from this horrible, spiteful, hurtful lie that had to be! Nines, _her_ Nines_, _cannot still be here! He will never be her enemy. Marius said it so himself, and he'd never deceived her. All the things he'd spoken of, until they last parted a long time ago, had proven to be true. Not once had she ever detected a false tongue.

_He'd never say such filth! Nines is long dead, and will never be—_

Rosalynn's maddened thoughts of denial were interrupted by the familiar sound of a cocking shotgun…

And out of the darkness, a voice slammed her like a hailstorm of bullets. By god, that voice – deeply masculine, and stringing words together in that familiar tone – struck her into a state of shock. _His _voice.

"Turn around, rat-sucker."

* * *

**Note: Bear in mind it was nearing midnight when I wrote most of this, lol. Anyways, more coming soon. **


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

SUMMARY: **Nines and Rosalynn have their confrontation. Nothing more need be given away here :)** **Read on.**

Author's Note: **Sorry it took so long for another chapter. Been going through a lot on the home front, kinda forget the story after a while. I'm back to writing more full time now. **

**Reviews are welcome. It's my first time writing again after a long while, so I am a little rusty. In due time I'll fix up the story.**

**

* * *

**

His voice alone stole any reason left in her. Rosalynn couldn't even work out what emotion ran through her as Nines' strong voice took control of her being. In that one moment, all of her reality crumbled and her fears confirmed. He's here. Alive, so to speak. Standing behind her was the ultimate confirmation of the lies that created her entire existence.

Liquid poison filtered from her mind in the form of memories… ones Rosalynn struggled whether to keep or abandon. Like a toxic substance, the memories ambushed her from the trenches of her mind and held her entire body hostage to that one spot. Her will was useless to shed it from her system. Invaded by the gut-wrenching memories of her mortal days, Rosalyn barely heard Nines' second call for her to turn around.

The lies told her throughout her kindred years lumped together in her throat; the horror strangling her from the inside. Rosalynn's eyes turned heavy with realization – only they could move, where the rest of her failed to wake up from paralysis. Behind her, she heard footsteps draw near. Then it happened. A familiar musky scent, married with the smells of cigars and alcohol, obliterated her senses. Her keen sense of smell couldn't mistake the one only that smell belonged to. It only belonged to one person. She remembered that smell from the nights leading up to Nines' disappearance.

_Turn around. Turn around! _Rosalynn silently begged her body to move, before Nines could use that shotgun to do it for her. She felt her mouth unhinge, but nothing came out. At a loss for any sense, she couldn't wrap her mind around it. Nines – her Nines – is here… standing behind her… pointing a gun at her back. If she turns around this moment, she'll see him. Her past. Her reason for latching on to humanity.

"Don't make me tell you again." Nines approached her, shotgun aimed between her shoulder blades. He neared her to the point where the end of the gun's barrel lightly brushed her jacket.

Rosalynn couldn't move. She had no way to tell him it was her. Frozen in disbelief, her entire body rebelled against moving for fear of turning to jelly. Her face wore the expression of a woman who made the most devastating mistake a person could possibly make. Every decision she made, every path she traversed, every kindred she killed had been for nothing.

Nines' brows furrowed lightly. Is this woman deaf? If it was her aim to provoke him beyond any realm of sanity, she was surely succeeding. His index finger itched to pull the trigger. Seeing nothing beyond the thick tresses of red hair, he took a moment to study her. Dragging a gaze from the feet to the head of the slight woman, he breathed in but could not find her original scent beyond the layers of perfume and rats blood.

_That's it. Enough playing._

"You got to the count of three." Nines' tone was edged with derangement. "One…two…"

At the two, she turned. What Nines came face to face with made his blood turn from cold to ice. It was a sheer miracle that he remained on his feet, when the most haunting face of his past confronted him.

"Oh my God…" Nines murmured, recognizing that face in an instant.

In a scene straight out of the movies, Rosalynn couldn't believe what she was seeing. Frozen in time as the man from her memories, she locked eyes with Nines – both embraced in the same snare of absolute horror.

The mirage looked so real. Crystalised before his eyes Nines stared at the image of the woman that left him with little sleep. He truly has gone insane. That's the only explanation that made sense for him to see his Rosie there. And it didn't pass him by that his mental projection of her made her skin ivory like his. Otherwise she was as he remembered leaving her. Not a day has she aged in his mind. For that's all this could possibly be – some mind warp that's turned him mad.

"No…" Nines furiously shook his head, hoping to free it of the torment. It wasn't possible. But the figure standing before him defied every single memory he cherished.

In the same span of a mortal heartbeat, his thirst for revenge died. Through wide eyes he observed every nuance of the illusion. Her face, her eyes, her mouth, the curves of her body – to the exact detail, the image pulled from his memory constructed his wife in all her glory. The only difference was her flesh - and the clear scent of death reeking off her.

It was that the nauseating concoction of perfume and rats blood that awoke Nines from his transfixion. Or so he thought. Blinking furiously, Nines' eyes resumed some reason. A slow dragging gaze from head to toe did nothing to calm his panic. He blinked again – and there she remained. When blinking failed to get rid of her, Nines shook his head again, staggering away.

Only one other explanation was possible...

"Kuei-Jin devil!" Nines hissed, his eyes suddenly ablaze with panic blended with fury. In his haste, he nearly dropped the gun.

Some Eastern asshole, somehow, somewhere, desecrated his wife's memory to assume her form. It was another insult to his beautiful Rosalynn, conceived through his decision to leave all those decades ago. He should've figured such animals would delve so low as to use his family as pawns. Rosalynn's face stood between him and his enemy, and its affect strangled the bloodlust out of his system. His expression dissolved from anger to grief as he fought to see his enemy beyond those eyes of hers. Had he still possessed a heartbeat, it would have burst right then and there.

Her gaze felt so real. It penetrated him the way only Rosalynn managed to do. The son of a bitch hiding behind her did an amazing job. Whoever it was captured perfectly the way Rosalynn's eyes softened when she was scared or surprised. It managed her mannerisms incredibly as she lifted a trembling hand to her hair, tucking it behind her ears the way she always did when she was nervous. The demon had even perfected the way her lips twitched excitedly when some powerful emotion had her in its grasp.

All-in-all, had Nines not known he was face to face with another immortal being, he would have fallen for it. Knowing that gave him the power to lift the shotgun, levelling it straight between her eyes.

"You have no idea what you've done, asshole." Nines gritted out, his voice thick with the devastation he so valiantly tried to conceal behind clenched teeth. He surprised himself in managing to string together that many words.

Saying it to his wife's face, though he knew she wasn't real, took real effort. His mind was livid with memories of happier times with the woman this monster portrayed. Every second the creature possessed Rosalynn's face only caused rage to swell Nines' chest until the Anarch looked even more fierce than usual. Every second he gazed upon Rosalynn's face, only made his heartache manifest in his eyes. Damn it to hell that he still loved her – or more specifically, loved the memories that took him away from this nightmare of an existence. Her face was the only reason he hadn't already pulled the trigger.

Rosalynn didn't take notice of the shotgun barrel aimed square at her eyes. She only saw beyond that. She hadn't heard Nines' heated accusation of her as being Kuei-Jin. She didn't dare blink, for fear he'd disappear. In the few minutes she had to prepare for this moment, nothing worked. Nothing prepared her to encounter the man she had been told was long dead. And boy did he still look as good as she remembered. Paler, and more intense, certainly. She had already spent countless days and nights pondering what death had done to him in his short unlife – or what she thought had been short.

The only real difference was how cold he was. Literally and figuratively. During their marriage Nines was never shy in his affection for her and not unlike that of those whom she envisioned in her fantasies of who she'd marry when she was younger. He was the closest she ever knew to be the man of her dreams. But standing before her was not a man of warmth or affection. His eyes were nearly black with contempt; not a shred of kindness or mercy tempered the storm weathering his face.

Rosalynn only had a few seconds to overcome her disbelief. If he pulled that trigger believing she was an enemy, she would be put to a quick end. Survival instinct resurrected her from her horrified stupor, and she shook herself free of the vice that had locked her to the spot.

"Nines..." she whispered, managing a step forward despite all better judgment to the contrary.

Nines tensed, and so did she. The slight jab he made at her with the gun made her stand back, holding her ground. Rosalynn instantly lifted her hands defensively, her eyes pleading with him to see _her_.

"Nines, please!" Rosalynn didn't recognise her own voice – so weak and desperate. It reminded her of her old passive self. The way she was as a mortal. The way she had always been with Nines.

"Stay the hell away from me you piece of shit." Nines roared, stepping back as she advanced.

He couldn't pull the trigger. For all his experiences and many years as a fierce leader, fighting for a noble cause, he couldn't pull the trigger – not on his wife, even if she is not real.

"Nines, it's me! It's Rosalynn!" Rosalynn pleaded.

"Oh you're good..." Nines steadied his trigger finger. He had to keep reminding himself she wasn't real. Rosalynn had died; she went missing many years ago. He barely had taken _that_ news to heart, and now here this evil bastard stood, harnessing her image in order to destroy him.

Nines Rodriguez, of all kindred, did not believe in coincidences. Someone was playing him, and he had only one guess who that was. He didn't have it in him right now to believe that Strauss could possibly be in league with the Kuei-Jin.

"Nines, don't do this! It's me, I swear. Put the gun down! You don't know what you're doing..." Rosalynn begged, hoping to find some way to bring him to reason again. She didn't want to hurt him; to be the one to end him, but in every instance the need for survival overruled any other desire a kindred might embrace.

It was only a matter of time before he does pull the trigger, and she would be put down like dog. If Nines tried, Rosalynn would not have a choice other than to take the fight time him.

"Stupidity is somethin' I'm never guilty of, Eastern fuck. Rosalynn is dead." Stating the obvious, he knew – but Nines also said it to convince himself of it, because looking at her right now, he couldn't see any Eastern evil in her eyes or on that still-beautiful face. Remembering his Rosie was dead was becoming harder...

"No! No, Nines! Nines listen to me, I'm here. I'm real! I mean, I am dead, but I am kindred. I was sired three years after you!" Rosalynn hurried to explain the little information she had; her face overcome with urgency.

Nines looked nowhere near convinced. Needing a new tactic, Rosalynn searched the deepest recesses of her remembrance for something...

"I'm gonna enjoy taking you apart piece by piece." Nines' deep snarl interrupted her. When she looked up, Rosalynn nearly fainted at the deranged creature he had become in the instant.

Nines advanced; his eyes ablaze with manic lust for her demise. This was now personal, and an open invitation for him to take this fucker apart, limb from limb. He didn't need the gun anymore. The Kuei-Jin have surpassed the lows of even Sebastian LaCroix in their violating his wife's memory. Sustaining his anger proved impossible the longer this fool held his like a coward behind its disguise. It was like it knew Nines would never harm even an image of Rosalynn. This one has done its research well.

In his anger, he threw aside the shoutgun and poised himself ready to fight; his entire body becoming taut – readied for a long, brutal encounter. Rosalynn saw it then that he meant to kill her, and it stunned every principality she had. She didn't feel like the Prince she was. Her entire time as Prince was defined by a huge lie, engineered to conceal the truth behind her husband's demise. And here he was, unliving proof that all she knew was false. Her reality wasn't a reality any more.

Nines stationed himself across from Rosalynn, his body ready to tear the facade off the face of his latest victim. He'll enjoy bathing himself in its blood before turning it to ash. This was the same one who had fooled Jack into what sounded like an epic battle, as brief as it had been.

Sniffing the air around her, he smelled... fear?

"Reveal yourself." Nines demanded, carefully slipping his turmoil beneath an icy surface. Somehow he managed to stay his arms at his side.

It wasn't a request, though it was an order with no merit. How could Rosalynn show him what was already in front of him? A flash of hysteria gripped her as she took a step back. Her eyes searched at her feet, while her mind searched the possibilities... how could she prove it to him? Her memory threw her a lifesaver when she remembered something. Something that just might work if-

Rosalynn didn't get the chance to put the thought to action when she was blindsided by a powerful strike to her temple. She unleashed a scream that pierced the night as she crumpled to Nines' feet. She had little chance to realise what happened when Nines was upon her again, lifting her up by the throat. Her feet was off the ground when the Anarch again waylaid the side of her head with a clenched fist no mortal or immortal wanted to be on the receiving end of.

"You are going to pay with every drop of your demonic blood!" Nines carried the threat in his eyes.

"Nines, please! It's only me, I'm the only one in here!"

"I'm gonna take my sweet time with you, asshole."

The threat nearly died there, when he still couldn't see beyond Rosalynn's face. In his mind, the woman in front of him had warmer skin and a brilliant smile. The one in his grasp looked outwardly the same, only enveloped in death.

Though one of the most seasoned warriors of the Anarch community, Nines found himself at odds with his instinct to kill her. His distraction gave Rosalynn the window of opportunity she needed. The need to survive trumped all else as she delivered a commanding kick to his gut, as she had done with Jack earlier. Nines roared and released her immediately. Rosalynn dropped to her feet and ducked out of his way almost in a replay of tonight's earlier round. Instinct drove her across the roof, though behind her she smelled her former husband giving quick chase. What she didn't see as she ran, was Nines picking up the gun and aiming it precisely at her back. The next few seconds were a total blur. Rosalynn leapt across the small separation between apartment buildings, and she heard the discharge sound of the gun. Even her supernatural speed couldn't outrun the shot that drove into her spine just below her neck.

Mid-flight, her body failed her. Rosalynn's outcry reached Nines easily as he followed her. Not too far ahead, he watched her slam against the opposing rooftop, face-down. He jumped the gap and approached her side, and in the same move landed a heavy boot to her ribs. The bones cracked, much to his delight. He wasn't going to stop there. The asshole who had so foolishly struck the most painful nerve with the brutish Anarch leader had no choice but to show itself. Nines had no qualms with beating him into doing so. He studied the kindred. The shotgun blast to the back of her neck oozed blood, and he heard her coughing with hysterically into the clay tiles. He smelled the fresh coating of blood she gave it. The only thing he couldn't figure out was that this Kuei-Jin obviously isn't one of them. It can't be a Ventrue.

So why then did it reek of rats' blood, and the stench of cursed Ventrue blood? Nines didn't want to delve into the possibility of _another_ conspiracy running a mile deep between the Camarilla and Kuei-Jin.

That just left one lingering thought: What the hell is this woman?

Aside from confront a demon who had assumed his dead wife's image, Nines felt the weeks of burning pressure accumulating beneath his dead skin. He was more than happy to take it all out now on whatever this thing was. But first things first...

Snatching up a handful of 'Rosalynn's' hair, he drove a knee into her back. Jerking her head back, Nines leaned down – nearing himself to the face that threatened to drive him beyond distraction.

"Show yourself, demon. Or I'll make your end more painful than you want it to be..."

His voice was more emotional than he intended, but the message got through. Rosalynn's coughing brought up most of the rats blood she consumed. It hadn't done her one ounce of good really, and its' disgusting taste clung to her tongue. Her chest ached terribly, and she could give him no answer.

The pain she was in absolutely incredible. Still reeling from her encounter with Jack, Rosalynn knew she wouldn't survive an assault from Nines. In life he had been an impressive man. When she first met him, she was awestruck by his physical presence. She didn't dare to think what supernatural enhancement has done to him. Fire tore through her spine, her body convulsing at its own will – ignoring every attempt she made to get to her feet. Every attempt she made, Nines took her back down. The last time, he planted her head to the tiles.

"Nines, listen to me-!"

"I don't think so."

"Baby, don't do this! I promise, it's me! I am the only Rosalynn. _Your_ Rosalynn!"

"Man, you pricks never learn."

"Nines! Nines!" Roslaynn screamed his name, and Nines couldn't help but cringe. Hearing that angelic voice of hers scream his name in _pain_ – even though merely a trick – cut him a lot deeper than it should have.

"That's it."

Fed up, Nines dragged her upright; helping Rosalynn to the side of the roof when she couldn't stand on her own too feet. Without fresh blood and with a shotgun hole to her back, she didn't have much fight left in her. Too bad, Nines thought. This one's going to expire well before he was finished with her. Squeezing her neck, he easily lifted her and hung her out over the edge. Rosalynn clawed at his hands, her face straining as she fought to speak. Between Nines' fingers around her throat and the seal of blood caking her trachea Rosalynn had no room to reason with him. Not that reason was exactly her forte right now.

Thrashing wildly, she pried her eyes open; ignoring the blinding pain that inhabited every muscle. When she finally managed to clear her vision, Rosalynn nearly died again. Nines' untrusting, hostile glare cut through her like the sharpest of blades. It was now or never. A Prince never goes down without a valorous heart, and tonight will not be any change from that. But she will not kill her husband. Not tonight. Not like this. Not until she knows for sure that he is what she fears to be true.

There was only one word now that could prevent her from turning to dust. One word that has the only chance to reignite Nines' humanity...

"Michael." Rosalynn managed the weak cry, broken up by sickening coughs and deep gasping.

Nines froze, nearly losing his grip on her by accident. Michael. The word slapped the heated rage out of the Anarch; his face taking on complete surprise. Both he and Rosalynn fell quiet in their fight; Rosalynn watching him through hazy eyes for his reaction. It wasn't immediately clear when he fell silent just what the word had done to him. What she didn't know was that Nines had been pulled straight into the very truth she intended to strike into his heart.

"Michael?" Nines uttered the word before he realised he had opened his mouth.

It was a name he hadn't thought of in many years, which was strange only for the fact that it was his own. As soon as Rosalynn mentioned it, Nines remembered the few occasions Rosalynn spoke to him with his true name – intimate moments that left no evidence anywhere save for a vault of memories he stored inwardly, and the key to it was known only to one other.

He looked up and again found her eyes. They were strangely clear. Staring back at him, he knew then. The actualisation of his deepest fears. A past he for so long believed to be as dead as him. As though Rosalynn had been set on fire, Nines released her and jumped away with an anguished holler as if it had been _him_ that had a hole blasted through his spine. A horrid cocktail of emotions took him to one knee and surprise left him reeling while Rosalynn endeavoured to bring herself upright. The hole in her back bled profusely, and burned terribly.

Reaching around to her back, she fought the callings of the inner beast. She painstakingly hauled herself onto her knees.

Nines clutched both hands to his head. The pressure bore down on him with incredible fury, leaving him wrestling the sickening realisation in the pit of his stomach. Stealing a quick glance at Rosalynn, who was exhausted and broken in a puddle of blood and invisible tears, Nines was certain his heart jumpstarted.

Rosalynn. _His_ Rosalynn. This was no illusion; she was as real as the blood on his hands felt. Nines nearly killed his wife.

"It ain't true." Nines tasted the lie when he said it. "Fuckin' lies, all of it!"

But there she was, not going anywhere. His Rosalynn looked no older than the day he left her. That could only mean one thing...

"Kindred."

Immediately he remembered Strauss telling him of Rosalynn's disappearance only a few years after his embrace. Her body had never been found. As his mind cleared, Nines wondered why he never thought she too could have fallen victim to the supernatural world. It never occurred to him that she could be anything less that pure, anything less than absolutely perfection. It never crossed him that she could be damned. The last shred of humanity he carried was remembering her as beautiful, innocent and warm as she was. Now fate had gone and destroyed that too.

Nines ran a hand over his mouth but the tension did not ease. His face did not betray the incredible blitz of emotion that evaporated the last of his bloodlust.

Rosalynn carried the excruciating pain on her face; tense and clearly exhausted. Without fresh blood the hole in her back wasn't going to close up soon. Nothing short of convincing Nines she was real will keep her in her unlife. Though inappropriate, a small part of her instinctively felt repulsed to be at the mercy of an Anarch cretin.

"Nines." She brokenly whispered, hoping to stir his attention her way. He refused to look at her, or otherwise didn't hear. "It's me. Your Rosie."

"Liar." Nines shook his head, still clinging to the way he wanted to remember her. "You're not her."

That was partly true; Rosalynn wasn't the woman he remembered. As kindred, their mortal emotions didn't linger for too long after the embrace.

"It's _me_, Nines! Look at me!"

Rosalynn forgot her status. Not feeling exactly like the esteemed leader she was in her blood, it was remarkable how easily she slid back into the role she held in mortal times. Confronted with what she had secretly wanted for so long, she ignored the pain and scooted forward on her knees until she was in arms reach of Nines. Either he would accept it, or he would kill her. He was close enough to do either. Rosalynn hoped it was the former option. She had no energy left to get her through a fight. And fighting with Nines of all kindred was the last thing she wanted.

"Nines." In a daring move, she latched a hand onto his arm.

At her touch, Nines growled and shook her off but the damage had been done. Though ice replaced the warmth that once enriched her flesh, he remembered that touch and how powerful it was. If she did it again, Nines wasn't sure he'd recover.

He didn't know what to believe. Rosalynn is kindred, but a Ventrue? A Camarilla Prince? Connecting the dots in his mind, the full picture was quickly painted.

Nines let out an angry yell.

Encouraged, Rosalynn inched closer. Being so near to the man she once loved, it devastated her to see him now. She knew for so long he had once been kindred, but thought he had been put to death a long time ago. She never envisioned him as one of them. Until now she only knew him from before he disappeared, and that was enough for her.

Caught between the woman she once was and the leader she now is, her momentary lapse in judgment proved costly. Nines moved so quickly, taking himself to his feet – as well as Rosalynn. Uttering a yelp of surprise, Rosalynn's reaction time was clearly off as Nines grabbed her arms and hoisted her to his feet. He menaced her silently for a long minute, pulling her close to read her eyes. With cold regard, he pursued her into the depths of her damned soul. Rosalynn, transfixed in an awkward staredown, had no energy – and thus, no choice.

Nines' emotionless face made it hard for her to tell what he was thinking. Rosalynn waited. Inwardly Nines felt a carnal flare in his chest he hadn't experienced since... well, before his embrace. A foreign burn made invaded his eyes just long enough for Rosalynn to glimpse it before he quickly buried it behind a stone visage.

"You're dead." He said barely above a whisper.

Rosalynn braced herself for either a beating or an intense standoff. "You're... not."

She believed for as long as she had been embraced that Nines suffered Final Death early on. Discovering him tonight made him as close to being alive to her as he would ever be.

Nines looked like he didn't know what to do, and that's exactly how it felt. He was at a loss what to feel. The carnal tinge invading him made him want to kiss her. The rest of him wanted nothing more than to shower the street below in her blood. Nature versus nurture in the cruellest of battles. The battle manifested in his eyes, giving Rosalynn the first readable clue to what was going on in that dead heart of his.

"You believe me." Rosalynn wasn't certain of it, but she ran with it. She hoped beyond anything he did.

"You're here. You're..."

"Unbelievable." The word described everything.

A fool to his former desires, Nines lifted a hand to the side of her face. Running his thumb along her jaw line. She sure as hell felt real. Colder, deader, but very real. Little by little his guard dropped – only enough to let some feeling return.

He couldn't look away from those eyes he used to fight to remember.

"Rosie."

Rosalynn's entire face lifted with a weary smile, and she nodded. Incredibly, she harboured a joyous sensation. The smile felt unusual and distinctly out of place. It was the first of many feelings to come.

Nines couldn't say anyhing. His eyes brimmed with confusion, giving him the expression of a man succumbed to absolute disbelief. He couldn't believe it in his wildest imaginations. His Rosalynn was kindred. His Rosalynn was a Ventrue. His Rosalynn was... the Prince of New York City?

"What have they done to you?" Nines whispered, fearing to know just who 'they' were.

"Now isn't the time for such questions." Rosalynn pointed out what they both knew.

Enraptured by the other's sheer survival, neither were keen to explore the complicated story that bound them to this moment. His hands released her, and Nine had to take a step back to take stock of the woman he craved for so long. She was one-in-the-same of the creature he had strived to dismember all night.

Touching her made it all real. Her ashen skin marked her as one of them; without a drop of life in her. Her teeth bore the same tapered canines as he. Being so close to her, he sensed no heartbeat nor the presence of a mortal soul. Rosalynn is kindred. She is everything he never wanted her to know.

Touching her cheek, he tried to read through her eyes but was stopped by ocean pools.

"What happened to you... how... I-" Nines stammered like a newborn fledgling.

If ever he felt less like a veteran kindred, he couldn't remember it. He reacted to her in a way that earned one's Final Death, but he couldn't control it. Having his humanity staring back at him chilled him.

Rosalynn's reaction was just as odd. She searched herself for some remnant of old feelings, hoping that there was at least that part of her mortality that lingered, but there was none. Memories of mortal affection didn't gaurantee its passage through bloodsoaked decades. Her disbelief was chastened only by her Ventrue blood. Calm authority reigned over her features. Nines saw through her exhaustion there was no malevolence. Oddly enough, he didn't feel the glowing need to carve her internal organs out anymore.

"How can this be...?" Rosalynn frowned lightly, unable to find justification for this moment.

Since he already made it permissible, she returned the gesture and lifted a hand to his face. His skin was more textured than she remembered, but that came with time as well as the convenient factor of death.

"You have no idea how much I wished you were alive. Not this way." Nines said darkly, without a trace of warmth. It almost came off as a threat, but Rosalynn knew it was something else. Grief, maybe.

"Me too." She couldn't resist touching him some more – better yet, Nines didn't stop her as she came toe-to-toe with him.

Of the two, she was the weaker. She wouldn't last a fight spurred on by instinct. Nines held his ground, remaining on guard. For all he knew this was some elaborate trick devised by one Maximillian Strauss, and he would be a fool to not have considered that. But goddamn it, he couldn't get past her. He couldn't see anything beyond Rosalynn. Not even her Ventrue blood or Camarilla stench, or the odour of rats blood on her clothes was enough to repel him.

Nines let her hands explore his face, and down to his shoulders. All the while Rosalynn held his gaze, as though locking him into a trance preventing him moving to harm her. As if he would do anything of the sort.

So he merely stood dignified as Rosalynn indulged her curiosity. Finally her hands came to rest on his shoulders.

"I can't believe you're real. I can't believe you're here." Rosalynn murmured her amazement straight into his eyes. There had to be some part of the old Nines Rodriguez trapped beneath his frigid surface.

Nines touched her elbows that were at his chest, his head bowing. If the others saw him like this he'd never hear the end of it, and to have any other Camarilla muppet standing this close to him would've stoked the deepest wrath.

"I'm sorry." Nines breathed, his voice fluttering a little. He'd been pressing to say it for so many years now, to give her the apology he never believed he'd get to say. Rosalynn lip twitched.

"For what?" She answered with a flighty smile.

Already the pain of her wounds had eased, part in thanks to being here with him. Rosalynn cupped a hand to his face, hoping to ease the iciness from him so she could know he also felt something. Like a pro, Nines kept his compsure – he didn't give her any sign; nothing that could be mistaken for weakness.

"For the shotgun." It wasn't the apology he wanted to give her, but it would do for now.

Until Nines had a chance to process all of this... this... event, he'd give her nothing that the Camarilla can use as ammunition. Strauss' treachery had already endangered him and his friends, as well as the cause – not to mention his companions were already starting to question Nines' ability to lead.

Yet none of that concerned him now, and for that Nines could only resort to his own experience to keep him from forsaking everything he had worked for already.

Rosalynn's already watery smile dimmed further, and she remembered the wound – and in doing so, felt the sting between her shoulders once more.

"Forget it, it'll close up soon enough." Not without a fresh meal it won't, she didn't add.

Nines brought her even closer, until their faces were almost upon each other. Without thinking about it, he circled an arm around her waist and fitted her body neatly against his. Like the old days, they matched perfectly. It gave him ample opportunity to explore her eyes with sharp intensity.

"How did it happen?"

"What?"

"Your embrace." Nines teetered on the edge of rage with the question, since it meant finding out who killed her. The thought of Rosalynn's soul being stolen from her aroused in Nines the desire to find out her sire and feed him to the sun. Or better yet, the Sabbat.

Hearing the edge in his tone, Rosalynn quickly answered.

"Like I said, it happened about three years after you went away."

"Who?" Nines demanded. He didn't care how far he had to go to track the bastard who had killed her, and turned her into... _this_.

Rosalynn knew better than to answer. She knew where Marius was, and there was no reason for Nines to know. Then again, her sire had some serious questions to answer. Her silence elicited a sharp growl from Nines' throat, and he bared his teeth at her for good warning.

"You will tell me everything." He said without regard for the surprise that jumped into Rosalynn's eyes. "You will tell me how it happened. You will tell me who did it. You will tell me where the sonofabitch is. And you _will_ tell me how and why the fuck you are a goddamn Prince."

Rosalynn was stunned by the crazed passion Nines spoke with. Only then did she remember what they were – kindred. Mortal emotions was not part of their makeup anymore. Remembering that gave her the wit to return a meanacing glare of her own, pushing through the rest of the confusing emotions besetting her weary body.

"You shouldn't demand anything of me Nines," She warned in alow voice of her own. Steady and filled with authority, she added, "You should know better than to-"

Oh he knew better alright. Rationality escaped him when Nines drew her in and kissed her. A small surprised squeal was all Rosalynn could surmmon as his mouth crashed hard onto hers. Ironically for as cold as their beings were, the kiss was as heated as either of them remembered. Rosalynn's reluctance quickled reversed into eagerness. Slinking her arms over his shoulders, the two kindred forgot right then that they were anything other than the passionate couple they used to be.

And as quickly as the moment arised, it vanished the second Nines tore his head away. Again Rosalynn saw no affection there. The kiss had left with an unerasable impression that stole her senses.

Nines canvassed her eyes and recognised the similar thoughts and experiences he had in dealing with their past. Despite the kiss, the way their life together should've ended many years ago, he felt nothing but rising scorn. Using Rosalynn's failing condition to his own advantage, he let his hand travel its own way to the small of her back. What Rosalynn thought was an affectionate move turned into dread when she realised Nines' more sinister motives.

In quick succession she jumped out of his arms, though it was too late. Already Nines had the stake she had forgotten about that was tucked just inside her jacket; strapped to her back. Astonishment sank in as Rosalynn realised what he was doing. Her mistake became Nines' advantage. She tripped over her feet to land hard on the roof. So close to frenzying, and too weak to fight on, she had no choice but to watch her unbalanced former husband charge her.

Nines threw down the stake. Rosalynn screamed the very instant its tip pierced her chest.

"Nines, don-!" Was the last thing she heard herself say; Nines' unmoved expression haunting her as everything dissolved to black...

**~~~ Minutes later ~~~ The Last Round**

Damsel grimaced. Things weren't looking too good, and she had only a few seconds to decide what to do. Such decisions can't be made lightly or else all would collapse. If her heart still had a beat, she was pretty sure it would be somewhere in the region of her throat by now. Precious seconds ticked by omniously; the dramatic ticking of the clock drilling each passing second into her panic-soaked head.

"This is fucking impossible." Damsel muttered, concentrating vividly at on her dwindling options.

Across checkers table, Kali beamed from ear to ear. For the first time in her relatively short unlife, she finally beat Damsel at something. Granted, a game of checkers was hardly working losing one's head over, but still a victory is a victory – made particularly sweeter when Damsel vented her frustrations quite openly every time she made a wrong move. Every piece she lost made her yell or curse – sometimes both – or leave the table to pace around Kali like a predator cornering its prey. Of course this all happened much to the amusement of Kali, and even Skelter found it entertaining – anything to take his mind off of what Nines was possibly up to.

After Nines went off on his crusade to rid the world of another Prince, Jack abruptly departed for the rest of the evening – and as usual leaving no more than a threatening lift of an eyebrow to hush the pestering questions that followed him from the three younger kindred. None of them anticipated hearing anything from him until tomorrow night. Bored out of their skulls and trying to think up ways to distract themselves from the idea of giving chase to Nines, Kali was the only one to come up with an idea that didn't sound so ridiculous. Checkers. After dragging Skelter helplessly across the board, Kali was barely surprised when immediately afterwards the competitive Damsel demanded to 'teach the rat brat a lesson'. Kali's tendency to rely on drinking rats and other animals often made her the butt of many jokes. Her physical prowess was unusually limited for a Brujah and she didn't enjoy draining humans unless desperately hungry. Nevertheless, she was one of them.

"Damsel we've been sitting her for ten minutes. Make a move!" Kali whined, drumming her fingers boredly.

"Hey all the great masters of the game don't rush things." Damsel said; her face wrought with intensity as her eyes shifted from one of her two remaining pieces. The rest of the board was littered with Kali's nine pices.

Damsel morosely studied each pieace. Her options were increasingly limited, but she wasn't about to admit defeat to to this little twerp.

"Tick, tock Damsel." Kali chirmed and laughed when her opponent chased off the mocking with an imprecating glare.

"I'll mop the floor in your blood in a minute." Damsel hissed as she moved one piece.

"Easy, College girl." Skelter interrupted from his spot in the corner.

"She's cheating somehow, I haven't just figured out how yet."

"More likely she's kicked your ass before you've found your own ways to cheat."

"Son of a bitch, I-"

"Oh the sweetest victory!" Kali declared gleefully.

Damsel returned to the game and her eyes nearly rolled from their sockets. Both her remaining pieces had disappeared – reappearing in Kali's hands. Damsel's reaction was as expected, and the remaining two kindred braced themselves for another effusion. Kali and Skelter exchanged entertained looks as their hotheaded companion marched away from the table looking no more sour than she usually did when she did not get her way.

"That game was fuckin' rigged, man." Damsel maundered sullenly, foundering at the bottom of the stairs.

"Just admit it Damsel, I-"

Kali was about to turn up the degree of intensity in Damsel's tantrum when a loud crash took them all by surprise. In the same second, the bar door flew off its hinges. Thankfully no kine were present tonight or else they would've been on the receiving end of something else off its hinges: Nines stormed inside carrying a bundle of blood and rags. His entire face was maddened, not belonging to their reluctant leader. Right then he resembled something more fitting with the Sabbat mongrels.

Kali, Damsel and Skelter all gave him the same bug-eyed treatment; none daring enough to speak first. Being the most astute of the three, Skelter took keen interest in his friend's eyes. They were glazed; without reason. Nines didn't even seem to know where he was. He looked exhausted, but not from a fight. Suspicion deepening, Skelter then looked at the coiled mass of red hair, shredded clothes and blood. Ugh. A revolting union of rats blood and Ventrue slapped his senses.

"Nine's, man... you a'right?" Stupid question, but worth a try.

As he suspected, Nines didn't hear him. The older kindred trudged inside without so much as receipting their presence. He carried the mysterious woman, whom by then they all figured out was the New York Prince, to the bar and reposed her on the counter. In her youth, Kali was the most dumbstruck one - Nines didn't look put out at all – like he hadn't even seen a battle that night!

That thought also occurred to Skelter, and he guardedly approached Nines – making sure he was in the other man's sight. One look over the man told him what he needed to know. Something else happened out there tonight. In a fight against a Prince, even Nines would not have emerged completely unscathed. The man loved hand-to-hand combat, and didn't mind bearing the scars of a well-earned victory; fighting at a distance wasn't his style nor his strength. Brute force defined the all Brujahs, particularly this one. So to see their normally intrepid leader completely intact – except for perhaps his mental stability – was a cause for interest alone.

A staked Prince laying sprawled awkwardly upon the bar would have been a cause for celebration had it not been for the obvious toll it took on Nines. Not even Damsel could muster any enthusiasm. Quietly regarding the motionless kindred, she carefully kept a distance from Nines as she inspected the Prince. She remembered Jack detailing, quiet thirstily, the details of their short-lived battle, as epical as it had been. Only homeless folk and rats inhabited the surrounding streets, so the Prince would not have fed well before encountering Nines – and he had not excused her for it.

"Whoa." Kali came up next to her. "What happened?"

"I think that's a secret Nines ain't willing to share." Damsel replied, carefully eyeballing Nines.

Still entranced, Nines heard none of their voices. He was locked inbound to the replay of the night's events. It still hadn't percolated. This all somehow had to be unreal, or else a well-executed master plan of that bastard Strauss. The short journey home, and carrying the unconscious form his wife in his arms, did nothing to convince him his eyes weren't lying. Maybe he had been bewitched by an enchantress not unlike Ming Xiao – after all, she managed to convince the entire Los Angeles body of kindred that she was him for those long nights leading up to Lacroix's death. Had she not also been dead, accepting his wife truly was here in twenty-first century Los Angeles with not an aged hair on her head would not have happened.

Driving that stake through her tore him to tatters inside. Nines couldn't remember what gave him the forte or will to do it, and the look of betrayal she gave him when he staked her was the exact same look he remembered in his nightmares – when he left her that night. The night he became a monster.

Slowly his senses rekindled, allowing some of the conversations around him filter through – including his three colleagues barraging him with ceaseless questions.

"Nines, who is she?"

"What happened out there?"

"Are you okay?"

"Shut up, Kali, of course he ain't. Look at him!"

"Well I was just asking, _Damsel_. Jeez! Get off my back."

"Both of you shut the fuck up. I'm getting tired of this. Nines, man, you look like shit."

"So she definitely is the Prince, yeah?"

"_Yes_, Kali!" Both Damsel and Skelter yelled in unified exasperation.

Nines heard them. To a degree he understood there would be more questions than answers. So enraged had he been and fuelled by passion, he did not see how severely he trembled. Angling himself over Rosalynn, he gently eased her head towards him to get a better look. Intensity married with disbelief gave him a look that none of the other three could place. He didn't normally care for their opinions anyway, unless it was to do with strategy or intel regarding the other sects, so their curious stares didn't bother him.

"Unbelieveable." He murmured, using the same word Rosalynn had.

A soft frown gave his face a more familiar expression, and he methodically tried to work it out. The onslaught of emotion caved inside him, and Nines bore the pain of it in his eyes that examined the subtelties of Rosalynn's face. The few imperfections he recalled were in place, each a silent testimony to her actuality. The tiny cut just above her lip. The lightly scattered assortment of freckles had disappeared under her snowy skin, but Nines was sure he glimpsed a remaining few. The more he took in of her, his misgivings grew terribly. There was no denying it anymore – this wasn't Kuei-Jin or some trick of socercy. This is his Rosalynn. His dreams; his nightmares are now his reality.

The others were floor as Nines tenderly cupped his hand to her face, the way of a lover. He regarded her not as the filthy Camarilla Prince they all saw, but as something more.

He wiped away the blood staining her sullying her cheeks and admired the still radiant beauty she still was. Though tarnished by death, the ravages of her condition couldn't deny just how beautiful she was.

Nines considered how many days and nights he wasted wishing he could have just one more day with her, to at least explain what happened. Years tormented him with the guilt of abandoning his family for them to think he ran out on them. Desire and grief languished in his chest, knitting a painful knot where his heart lay dead.

"Nines. NINES!"

Nines awoke from his enamour and acknowledged Skelter for the first time. The glaze disappeared from his eyes, and he straightened up. He saw beyond Skelter, to Damsel and Kali. Dread sank in his stomach and he knew he had some explaining to do. Just not tonight.

"Yo, what's gotten into you?" Skelter pulled Nines away from the bar, keeping a low voice. "You look like you been spooked. What's going on?"

Nines stared at him without answer for a long while. Out of all of them, he trusted Skelter the most to keep secrets, and he himself had spent countless hours listening to his comrades recount their former lives, vices and a smorgasbord of lost loves. Not one of those hours had he revealed much of his mortality. Certainly no one knew much of his mortal heydays – nothing beyond that he came of age during the twenties, and his worldly views were coloured by the Great Depression. None of them knew about Rosalynn and Emily. The three probing pairs of eyes glued on him now told Nines he'd soon need to confess something.

For now though he needed to think on his own and get away. The next few days will be sleepless ones, not helped by knowing his own wife was the number one target on his hit list. Gaunt and exhausted more than he realised, Nines slowly shook his head.

"Not tonight, Skelter. Don't go lookin' for a beating, man. Leave it alone."

"What happened to the killing you were so damn keen on?" Skelter unrepentantly pushed, not missing the dangerous edge in Nines' eyes. He glanced at Rosalynn. "That's the goddamn Prince, Nines. She should be ash by now!"

Nines didn't disagree, but didn't say why he couldn't sanction Rosalynn's death. His jaw stiffened, and he allowed his agitation to translate through to the other man.

"Don't push it, Skelter. I ain't playing with you; leave off or I will beat someone down. But it ain't gonna be her." He indicated with a nod of his head at the bar, his hardened gaze never leaving Skelter.

"Fuck that, you owe us an explanation." Skelter defied him, knowing full well he was the only one who had good standing to do so. "That bitch is rallying the Camarilla again, and you said it yourself, she'll be draggin' New York's bullshit here. What the hell is up wit you?"

His answer was a swinging fist and a hard blow connecting to his jaw. Skelter howled and fell backwards awkwardly, careening over the table behind him, and leaving the two girls stunned as Nines left him in the ruins of overturned tables and chairs. The Anarch leader felt the back of his head charring as three burning pairs of eyes watched him returned to the bar table. Over Rosalynn's vulnerable form, he indulged his need to take her all in; to cement in his head that she was here, real. And one of _them_.

"Damsel." Nines coarse bark of her name pulled Damsel out of her unusual quietness.

"Yeah, Nines?" She wasn't about to jump out of line, Skelter-style.

Instead she hung back beside Kali, hoping Nines had spent most of his rage in that one punch. Without removing his softened gaze from Rosalynn's closed eyes, Nines trailed a finger down her cheek as he addressed the _other_ redhead.

"I want you to take her to the storeroom. Lock her up with some chains or whatever we got. Kali can clean her up a bit." At that point he turned around, levelling both women with the same frosty look he had given Skelter. He wanted to make sure they understood perfectly not to mess with his orders. To Damsel, he added, "Get her something to drink. When she's secure, remove the stake. When she wakes up, come get me immediately. All three of you will guard her; I don't want her out of sight for a second, you get that?"

"Nines, what is going on?" Kali tried, keeping well clear of striking distance. "What's the matter with you, you look wrecked. What happened out there?"

"Nothing." Nines stomped past them, his gaze averted to the floor as he headed for the stairs. As he passed her, Kali did possibly the most stupid thing any of them could do – she threw out an arm and caught Nines' wrist, halting him at her side.

Nines pierced her with a damning glare, followed by a torrent of anger pouring fom his eyes. Damsel and Skelter looked blankly at each other. Needless to say, it was uncharacteristic of Kali Carpathia to do anything brave or reckless like getting in the way of Nines when he was on a warpath. Much to her own surprise Kali kept the fear his glare stoked in her well hidden by a hard exterior. Forcing herself to speak, she didn't back down...

"Nines, you gotta give us something to work with here," Kali said in a hushed voice, and peeked around him to where Rosalynn lay on the bar. "Because we haven't got any good reason to keep her alive unless you give us one. You're the one always ranting against the Camarilla; about turning them to ash. We won't not do it just because you didn't. Give us a reason to spare her."

Her quiet reasoning worked wonders to dissolve the irrational fury from the eyes of their leader, and she saw him yeild somewhat. Nines blinked away the confusion that had him reeling in about a thousand different directions. Kali was right. He had to give them a reason to not take an axe to her neck; something he could tell Damsel was itching to do. He had spent countless years cultivating the same passion of discontent in all of his brethren as he was embraced with more than seventy years ago; the energy he felt in this room to kill Rosalynn was the energy _he_ drilled into their existences. They had shed their blood to see the Camarilla taken down. This was their cause as much as his, and all three had the same drive to accomplish what Nines set out to do so long ago. They all believed the same thing: A good Prince was a dead Prince.

Realising they were all waiting for an answer, Nines hesitated. Beyond Kali, he saw Skelter glaring at him with a silent threat to try attack him again. In Damsel, he saw agitating – quietly warring within herself to contain the urge to unleash her own frenzy upon Rosalynn. Finally he came to Kali – the one who managed to cut through, if only a little, the intense waves of emotion that had easily trumped his decades-crafted self control. It was to her he could only make the confession.

Kali asked him again. "Nines, come on, tell me. Who is she? Why is she so important?"

Nines swallowed the hard lump swelling in his throat. "She's my wife." Was all he could say as he turned and trudged up the stairs – not wanting to see the same three stunned faces watching him until he disappeared...

* * *

**Author's Note**: So I want to explore the concept of how kindred deal with their mortal past. The idea of being split in two - such as being driven by nature to kill someone that one's mortality nurtured one to love, and how any traumas one experienced in life conditions their unlife. Anyway, in the coming chapters, more of Strauss' plans for the anarchs is revealed, as well as Nines and Rosalynn getting the confrontation they've both wanted for years. Meanwhile, the Anarch Free State, and Los Angeles in particular, draws perilously close to falling out of anarch control.


	12. Chapter 12

**CHAPTER 12**

**A/N: It's been a while since I've worked on this story, but I'm glad I found it again. Enjoy :)**

* * *

Strauss smiled. Everything was falling into place now, and the fruit of his labours was only now just starting to ripen. Turning around at the fireplace, his smile broadened at his spy standing timidly in the doorway. After having listened to the spy's report, detailing every move and countermove made upon that rooftop outside The Last Round, the spy waited patiently for his master's response. All in all, Strauss was surprised by only one thing: that both Nines and Rosalynn hadn't been put to final death. As much as he appreciated the delicate history between the two, part of him expected nature to trump nurture. Not that it mattered. It was better they both still be alive to torment the other. Strauss' strategy was simple enough: distracting Nines was the only way to defeat him, since the boorish kindred was too strong and too well-guarded to be killed by conventional means. The only trick was to use something powerful enough to distract him – such as turning his guilt into his reality. The only one who could defeat Nines was himself.

"Sire, what is your command?" The spy drew Strauss out of his almost euphoric state.

Strauss returned an eerie smile to the lad. "You've done well, Thomas. I implore you to return to your haven; speak of this to no one. You have earned a night's reprieve."

"Thank you, sire." Thomas bowed respectfully and departed the lounge, leaving the Regent alone to mull over the latest report.

Once alone, Strauss turned to the fire; his smile turning to a grimace. As much as it pleased him to learn Nines was falling for every trap he set, there was still much to be done and much danger to face. Now more than ever the charismatic rebel leader would be protected by his crew; no matter how isolated Nines made himself on account of Rosalynn. Then of course there was the danger of turning the New York Prince against her own blood and organisation; that Nines' roguish charm would cast its spell and make her fall in love with him again. In that case Strauss had to rely on the nature of kindred: love was not a part of their nature.

Provoking the Anarchs these days was a risk, but one that would only grow as time distanced them between recent events. At the moment the group was most likely in the worse state it will be in for some time. Outweighing the risk and benefits in his mind, a new idea formed in Strauss' mind - one that would possibly earn him the wrath in the Camarilla, at least in the short term. After all, placing one of their esteemed Princes in peril would not be a favoured strategy. Then again, anything that would supplant Nines' obsession with the Anarchs cause was worth the risk. As the idea took root in his mind, Strass reached for the cell phone in his pocket and dialled a number he never had to use before...

"Yes, it is I." He answered the grating voice on the other end. "I have a new request of you."

"I've done you enough favours, Strauss." The hostile kindred spat.

"I understand. Now I am asking on account of our arrangement that you acquiesce to me one final time."

A weary sigh told him his counterpart yielded. "Speak, Strauss. I have much to do."

Strauss took himself to the sofa and settled in for a long conversation. "I need you to find me more information on what happened to one Emily Rodriguez..."

_**~~~ The Last Round ~~~**_

Damsel, Skelter and Kali all hovered around the Prince for the second time that night. A few minutes earlier Skelter had carried Rosalynn's limp body, with the stake still embedded in her chest, over to the cold steel table. As per Nines' instructions, they chained her down as Kali began the arduous task of cleaning blood and the stench of rat off Rosalynn's skin. Already the mask of blood was gone from her face, giving all three their first real look at the kindred who had caused such a radical change in Nines.

"Damn." That had been Skelter's reaction.

"Bitch." That was Damsel.

"She's pretty." Kali observed as she dragged a wet cloth along Rosalynn's arms.

"I can't believe she's Nines' wife." Damsel situated herself on a seat by Rosalynn's head. The night's stunning revelation had knocked the fight right out of the usually igneous former college student.  
It was safe to conclude none of them saw this coming, probably not even Nines. That poor bastard probably had to be going through all new levels of hell, to have his past catch up to him like this. They were all in a whole new ballpark now; a new war of uncertainty looming thanks to the dishevelled mass strewn across the table.

"Has this ever happened before?" Kali looked to Skelter, the most senior of the three.

Skelter couldn't take his eyes off Rosalynn, but knew the question was for him. "I... yeah, I heard it happening before. But man, very rare."

Replaying everything in his head, he couldn't believe how rare it was. Kindred never usually remembered much of their mortal days, except when their immortal nights were defined by some lingering pain from life. The amount of times he recalled something like _this_ happening in Los Angeles was, well... none. Skelter had heard through the grapevine of former spouses encountering each other after their respective embraces... without a shred of the former affection. That is why Nines' strange behaviour around Rosalynn intrigued his right-hand man so greatly. Skelter looked over Rosalynn as his thoughts wandered back to Nines' fierce and almost protective demeanour of the Prince when the others converged.

Damsel glimpsed Skelter's intense thoughtfulness and jabbed an elbow into his ribs. Skelter jumped at the stab and threw a mean glare at the petite kindred.

"What do we do with her now?" Damsel wondered.

"More importantly, what the hell does Nines want with her? Wife or not, she's still Camarilla."

"Nines never does talk about his past..." Kali quietly interjected from her spot on the chair across the table from them both. She looked mildly at Rosalynn, a faint smile appearing on her face. "Maybe she's the reason why."

Damsel and Skelter rolled their eyes. Trust Kali, the gentle hippy of the group, to take a romantic spin on this whole mess. But she had a point – an annoying habit Kali had of being on the mark when she didn't even realise she was doing it.

Skelter made a very male-sounding grunt and studied the Prince the way Beckett often studied artefacts or clue to the beginnings of kindred society. "Whatever happened between them might be key in helping starve off the vermin in New York from trekking our way."

Damsel, with a sour face that hadn't really disappeared since Nines first carried her in, gave the unconscious Prince a look promising pure pain if she got the chance at her. Much to her chagrin, she held her temper behind a vicious snarl. She respected Nines too damn much to make matters worse right now, though it betrayed every inclination she had.

"Maybe we should find Jack." She suggested, otherwise blank for suggestions. She felt strangely effete in the aftermath of tonight's turn of events.

"He'd tell us to do exactly what we should: destroy her." Skelter answered with what they all knew to be true.

Regardless of Nines' demons, Jack wouldn't hesitate to finish off the Prince which he had been denied of doing early in the evening. He had no regard for the haunts of even his Anarch brethren, and tolerated no bullshit excuses – even ones as strange as this.

The three kindred fell into a silent vigil, each detaching themselves from conversation to conciliate tonight's unusual turnings into something that made one goddamn bit of sense...

* * *

Silence followed him for the first time in many nights, and for that Nines mutely thanked God or whoever was responsible. Stepping in and around the aftermath of Rosalynn's battle with Jack, he took sight of the damage through vacant eyes. In truth, Nines was elsewhere – far gone from tonight, his thoughts locked in a cage guarded by raw pain. If let loose, those thoughts would drive him to madness and_ that_ would do no one any good.

By God, Rosalynn's alive. Sort of. Out of nowhere he found himself swimming in those gorgeous eyes he never thought he'd know again, and in them he found the same memories of their life together play out. It was just the spark of heat through him he needed to swallow the nausea that came with knowing the woman he once lived and died for has become entrenched in the organisation he swore to put an end to.

A lapse in control saw the emotion simmer to the surface, and Nines couldn't conceal the pain tearing him apart. Thankfully he was alone, or else he wouldn't have hesitated to transplant that pain onto someone else. The physical energy alone might sap the bloodlust out of him he had for Rosalynn. The thirst to kill her felt as natural as loving her. Straddling two worlds; two versions of himself – Nines never felt more torn.

At the tips of his boots, he stared down into a small pool of blood. Kneeling, he dipped a finger into the crimson puddle and brought it to his nose. Immediately the foulest taste assaulted his keen senses. Ventrue blood. Rosalynn's blood.

Taking in the carnage, Nines couldn't understand how it came to this. How could he never have known what, in retrospect, was so obvious? That snivelling bastard Strauss, who must have set them up on this collision course, vaguely told him Rosalynn's fate – she disappeared not long after Emily did. A hole of dread grew where Nines' dead heart should have beat. If this had been Rosie's fate, then what of Emily...?

No. Nines shook his head before entertaining such perverseness. He did not need to know how Emily died – much less if Rosalynn was responsible. The end result of the fight painted a bloody tale, and Nines had seen and been involved enough fights to read the mess like a book. Rosalynn had impressively held her ground against the old-timer; her limited years no more a detriment to her in battle as they were to her becoming Prince.

Prince. That was another thing that made Nines completely lose his shit. His wife was Prince of one of the toughest goddamn cities in America; a city his Anarch brethren at this time harboured only dreams of capturing since it was so logistically treacherous. Yet Rosalynn managed to somehow quickly ascend the Camarilla ranks to assume the ultimate throne of power, and had all that power and wealth at her designer-sheathed feet.

"Holy fuck," Nines cursed behind a hand he ran wearily over his mouth.

The agony in his eyes mirrored only part of what he felt, since shock continued to numb his core. Maybe it was for the best, for he knew if he felt all the infringing emotions and the heat they assailed his cold body with, he'd be as helpless as any fledgling.

His gaze turned to the three main walls of the common room – all broken and dented; a testimony to the monumental strength carried in a kindred body that was thrown into it. None of the holes gave up who had actually caused the damage, but Nines was impressed. So much damage caused in the space of a couple minutes. It didn't surprise him since Jack's disdain for those of the Ventrue kind was only surpassed by his contempt for the Camarilla in general.

Situating himself on the edge of the destroyed sofa, Nines had a new battle to deal with – the one warring in himself.

"God, Rosie, what happened to you?" Nines murmured a broken whisper.

It broke his dead heart to meditate on her fate. Had he known it was a possibility he would have ditched California to take up guard of his family for however long it took – even if it meant having to endure them moving on and being happy with some other man. Then it occurred to him: The bastard he saw with Rosie and Emily in Los Angeles, for Emily's birthday.

"I'll end him." Nines gritted out the thought between clenched teeth. It stung him – the idea that he had been so near this family's murderer, and hadn't the wits or the balls at the time to intervene.

But before anger could fully take him hostage, Nines was rescued by the kind utter of his name...  
"Nines?"

He looked up as Kali entered the room, her face wrought with worry. Nines stood and tried to save face, but it was too late. Kali saw it all. To her credit, she made no mention or even reacted to it.

"What are you doing, Kaliyah?" Nines gruffly answered as she came up to him.

"I... just came to tell you that she's awake." Kali kept her eyes on her feet, not too keen to feel any more of Nines' anger.

Nines gave her a militant nod and walked around her. He didn't know exactly what he would say to Rosalynn, but he didn't trust his mind to come up with anything helpful. At the entrance, Nines stopped and looked back.

"Kali?"

"Yeah...?"

Nines paused. "Stay here."

She nodded obediently as he then left the haven...

**~~~ TEN MINUTES LATER ~~~**

As quickly as he had arrived in the Elysium, Nines had ushered Damsel and Skelter out to the street; Skelter shouldering the well-bred human they had lured to the bar to feed Rosalynn. He didn't care where they went, as long as it wasn't here. Once alone, he had only a few seconds between him and the storeroom to gather his wits. Nines baulked at the closed door.

He wasn't ready for this – to look at the face that encapsulated his humanity, knowing she was no better than a monster. Closing his eyes, and before he could stop himself, he opened the door.

Upon entry his attention zoned on the table – where Rosalynn sat, heartbreak etched in her eyes as she stared at her feet; one hand idly rubbing her chest where the stake had been. She looked a right mess – cleaner, but still a mess. Unlike Nines, she didn't bother disguising the battle beneath her cold front. Her clothes were torn, dirt-ridden and bloodied. Her skin was as white as his and washed clean of the blood.

She heard him open and close the door. Rosalynn had smelled him the minute he walked into the bar, and it was a mighty effort to _not_ look at him. Doing so meant fighting to look at him the way he is, not the way he was. She was just too tired for that fight right now, but of course Nines wasn't about to let her get away with that.

After a minute passed and she still didn't acknowledge him, Nines gave in to the upsurge of anger that propelled him forward. He crossed the short distance and snatched up the chains that bound her wrists, latching her to the steel table. Rosalynn's protests fell on deaf ears as Nines forced her to look up. The moment their eyes met, they both fell quiet.

Nines wasn't quite prepared for what he found in her eyes, and immediately he released her. There was his old Rosalynn, attacking him with the sweetest moments their short mortal lives had bound them together in. A deep growled rumbled in his throat, and her assault forced Nines to look away. At least he had her attention now. No longer needing to be so near, he stalked to the other side of the room. It was the least he could do to appease the horrific mortal sensations pricking at his skin.

Tense minutes ticked by without a word passed between them. All that time was spent studying each other, trying to overcome mutual feelings of disbelief blended with apprehension and, damn it all, fear itself. Nines leaned an arm along the wall, and bowed his head. Pinching the bridge of his nose, and fighting off some imagined headache. He had to end this silence before it turned him stark raving mad...

"This is ridiculous." Nines growled; his words bitingly cold as he threw an intense gaze sideways to Rosalynn.

There she was, in still all her beauteous glory, watching him with nothing but apprehension. She didn't look scared, but through tired eyes, she didn't look like an emotionless robot that most Ventrue assholes do.

"We can't sit here pretending we don't know each other. Rosalynn..." Nines turned fully to her, and fell against the wall. He needed it to stop him from tumbling to the ground; that was the sheer strength this woman had in her eyes. They had him in her power during life, and it seems that hasn't changed with death. Saying her name again was surprisingly easy.

Rosalynn stared at him, completely guarded. Her arms straightened at her sides as she clutched the side of the table.

"Do we?" she finally answered, her voice hoarse.

"What?" Nines somehow continued his joy at hearing her speak; this time without the added shock he met her with earlier that night. Her musical voice sounded sweet in his ears, having lost none of its potency to dissolve his resistance since the time they first met.

Rosalynn sat back regally. She may look and feel like hell, but she'd be damned if she acted like a pathetic wounded dog. Pinning Nines with a powerful stare, she tiled her chin up slightly.

"Do we know each other?" She elaborated, clearly trying to bait him into something.

"Don't play this game, Rosie..."

"Then what do we do, Nines?" Rosalynn idly tugged at the chains securing her to the table. The other Anarchs had done well in choosing a specimen to feed her with, but it wasn't enough. Her body had been punished so severely it wouldn't be long until it craved sustenance again. "We can't pretend everything's the same now, can we?"

It felt strange to address each other like complete strangers, but neither were fools – that's exactly what more than seventy years had turned them into. Neither ever anticipated meeting the other again; both content to fight only memories and be somewhat at peace with that. Nines and Rosalynn knew they were out of their depth, and both fought to salvage the last of their pride from what was a weary night.

Nines tucked his hands under his arms and lowered his chin to his chest. His gaze never left her though.

"I want to know why." He said it in a way that made hotness climb up Rosalynn's spine, thawing her controlled expression into something kinder.

She knew exactly what he wanted to know, and it came to mind whether to deny it. After all she spent decades clamouring to know what happened to her husband; it wasn't a stretch to think he wondered the same of her. Yet the proverbial elephant in the middle of room wasn't going anywhere – Nines is a damn Anarch. Everything she fought against.

"Rosalynn!"

Her head snapped up, like a deer in headlights. "What?"

Being the one _not_ in chains, Nines clearly had the upper hand. The emotion barely controlled beneath his surface was starting to show in the way he nervously started to pace and the forced way he pressed his mouth closed. Finally he had enough and closed the distance between them. Much to Rosalynn's surprise, instead of receiving his anger, Nines cupped his hands under her jaw and gently urged her head up. This close, her eyes bled more memories. He only hoped she'd give up the ones he wanted to know.

"Tell me what I want to know." Nines whispered it, but Rosalynn easily picked up the threatening edge to it.

The son of a bitch still knew how to pull her under his spell, and suddenly hypnotised, she could only comply. Unable to stop a fresh swell of emotion pooling in her eyes, Rosalynn sucked in a breath she didn't need to temper the hot flames singeing her chest. Feeling heat when one's entire being was as cold as ice felt like an invading force. Memories were trying to revive her into mortality, where she could totally embrace the affection that felt so foreign to her now.

Nines stayed close, his hovering presence seeming to do the trick in expelling the stubbornness right out of her. Of course he remembered that from life. Yet in a bizarre twist, being this near to Rosalynn sapped his own determination from his bones. Being so close to her made him swim in the lively memories. Being this close made him want to be alive again.

It was pure skill by now that kept him from losing it completely and snapping her out of those chains to hold her again. Nines quietly tamed the invasion of mortal desire behind fierce eyes. Pulling up a chair to the table, he deliberately seated himself in front of Rosalynn so that she couldn't avoid him. Rosalynn looked down at him with more need throbbing in her chest than she cared to think of. Damn her memories for betraying her this way. Damn her dead body for not staying at peace.

How Nines managed to do it, amazed her. And he wasn't going anywhere until she told him what he wanted to know.

"I can't believe it's you." Rosalynn couldn't stop herself from saying it, as though only now just slapped with the truth. Her beloved is still alive.

Reaching out a hand she touched Nines' cheek. He didn't react, but the look on his face didn't exactly seem welcoming either. Nevertheless, he let her do her thing. Rosalynn swallowed a hard lump that had somehow blocked her voice.

"I wanted this for so long." She added truthfully. Probably when she has time to reflect later, she'll loathe the admission. But right now it felt more wrong not to say it.

And kudos to Nines for holding it together. Inwardly he was about to burst. She still remembered him, and that strangely good.

"Rosie." Nines relented just enough to say her name with a touch of raw emotion. "What happened to you?"

Rosalynn opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. The truth stood ready on the tip of her tongue, but something held it captive there. She _could_ tell him what he wants to know, and lose herself to the weakness of confronting her past face-to-face. But then along came nature to her rescue, resurrecting the Camarilla strength she cherished. Supplanting the want in her eyes with renewed resistance, Rosalynn braced herself against his nearness and took back her hands.

"What does it matter?" She said quietly, her voice filled with new acidity. "It's over with."

The challenge was laid, and it was his move.

"Who the hell did this to you, Rosie?" Nines said a bit more forcefully, his patience wearing thin.

"No. It isn't happening. I won't betray my sire."

Nines let out a furious roar and pushed away. He stalked around the room, exercising his frustration the best he could – occasionally throwing damning looks Rosalynn's way. He wanted more than anything to know what son of a bitch turned his woman into one of them - a rat-sucking Ventrue Prince who for some reason had no problem getting her hands dirty. That alone was an intrigue. But a more annoying trait Rosalynn had picked up since her embrace was her ballsy attitude. Nines figured that being worshipped as Prince of New-fucking-York for thirty years would booster any person with an ego. Never in his wildest imagines did he put his quaint, kind, loving, obedient Rosalynn in the same league as the arrogant fuckers he dealt with every night. Only the Camarilla boasted the meanest of them.

"You're not going to let me go?" Rosalynn's husky voice - wearied by the night's toll on her bones - dragged Nines from the depth of his despair.

Nines glowered at her. He never looked at her like this before, but knowing what she was couldn't help but drag loathing from the deepest pit in his dead heart.

"No." He strictly answered. "Like it or not – which I strongly suspect you do – _cunning_ is still part of the Ventrue make-up. I don't trust your blood."

Rosalynn's silence told him she reluctantly accepted it – or at least couldn't put up a good argument against it. If their roles were reversed, she would have done the exact same thing.

The woman in the same room with him was not the woman he married, though she carried the same face. Thank God she was not the same, or else it would've stung him a great deal more when Nines gave into impulse and stormed across the room. He snatched up her chains and forced her roughly to her feet. Rosalynn yelled at him to stop, but had no strength to match his as Nines snapped the chains and lifted her from the ground – forcing her against the wall, and keeping her there.

"Tell me the bastard's name so I can make sure he sees his last night!" Nines hissed; his face wrought with madness. "Tell me who did this to you."

The quickness of what he did still held Rosalynn in a trance of shock. When it finally subsided, she gave him the foulest look she could muster. Straight into his eyes, she spoke coolly...

"Never. I will not betray my sire. He's shown me greater loyalty than any man. Living or dead." She meant that last part to hit him exactly the way it did.

Nines blinked; the verbal blow cutting him deeper than any blade could. His blood curled with hot rage and he held her harder to the wall.

"Say that again." He dared, his tone edging closer to absolute frenzy. "C'mon, honey."

Encouraged a little more, Rosalynn shoved him away and landed gracefully on her feet. They stood only inches apart, but never more did they feel so distant from each other than right now. Rosalynn dragged a cool gaze over the man she once loved beyond reason. Crossing her arms over her chest, she poised herself like a true Prince...

"You want the truth, Nines? About how I ended up like I am? As kindred?" Rosalynn side-stepped Nines and slowly roamed the small storeroom. She eyeballed the door and quickly fathomed that any escape attempt would be met with swift violence. Nines would be on her before she could get the door open – and not in a good way. Not that she was eager to leave just yet. They had seven decades of history to reconcile – and serious issues to settle.

As soon as she reached the other side, Rosalynn whirled around and pinned Nines with her fiercest glare yet. Nines saw decades of harboured emotion spilling out of her eyes in the form un-sanded hatred.

"Take a look in the mirror." She snarled, baring her fangs viciously.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what you think it does. None of this would've happened if you hadn't been such a victim to your own fucking pride, Nines."

Realisation quickly came over Nines. "You're talking about the night I left," He quickly figured.

Rosalynn chuckled bitterly. "Not just that one night, I assure you."

Try as she might, she couldn't contain the resentment she had been wanting to spit in his face for decades – and it felt really good. Feeling better than she had in many nights, Rosalynn felt the confidence return to her as Nines faltered under the guilt she dug into him.

"Don't look so damn surprised." She added, not feeling one iota of sympathy for him. "You made the first betrayal, honey."

Rosalynn said the last word with so much venom it burned Nines' ears. It pleased her to watch his reaction – a noose of guilt binding him to the spot across the room. Feeling a little more free, Rosalynn embraced the noble blood her sire embraced her with and made quick work on her husband.

"Don't you remember, Nines? That first betrayal you made. Since then I've taken measures to ensure it's the last time you ever do that to me."

Lulled into a false sense of advantage, Rosalynn didn't have a chance to process when Nines rushed her with the speed that belonged to a Brujah who knew fell well how to use celerity. Before Rosalynn knew what was what, Nines easily picked up the lithe kindred off the ground and forced her into the wall again, this time with just a little more force to make her realise the fire she was toying dangerously with.

"You son of a bitch!" Rosalynn seethed, cringing against the new rush of pain seizing her muscles.

"You will tell me what I want to know or I'll fucking end you right now." Nines threatened; the threat tasting disgusting in his mouth. Threatening his own wife had to be the lowest point of his existence so far. Luckily Rosalynn caught him out on it easily.

It was that threat that made her instantly forget the pain, and narrowed disbelieving eyes onto the Anarch.

"No you won't," Rosalynn easily called his bluff. "Hate to burst your bubble, darling, but you won't kill me anymore than I can kill you. At least I got the dignity to admit it."

"What dignity, rat-sucker?" Disgusted, Nines roughly let her ago and stalked away to deal with his rage alone.

As much as he wouldn't admit it, Rosalynn was right. She sensed the same weakness in him that they both knew was in her.

"Don't you understand, Nines?" Rosalynn's crisp voice drew Nines' attentions over his shoulder. At least she didn't look like one of them smug Camarilla assholes. It still pained him greatly to know that is what exactly what his woman became. It sickened him to think he once loved _that_.

Rosalynn sat herself on a nearby stack of boxes, eager to keep the wall at her back. Even from this distance she managed to catch his eyes.

"As much as I hate what you are... I know I can't kill you." Rosalynn became quiet, as a peaceful truth embraced her. She turned her gaze to her feet. "I don't want to kill you."

Nines found himself fighting again. Hard to love Rosalynn for what she had become; harder to hate her for it, since it wasn't her fault. He just couldn't accept her like this - a monster.

"This is crazy," He ran a hand over his hair. "This ain't right."

"No shit."

"You're not leaving her unless you tell me what I want to know."

"To what purpose and end, Nines?" Rosalynn said, growing tired of these games. "I already assumed I'm not leaving here at all."

"I want to know-"

"Who turned me, right? Why the hell does it matter to you so much, since you clearly aren't too keen on me now." Rosalynn's resentment shone through right there and then. It hurt her to know Nines no longer cared for her the way he should – had they both not been damned to exist with mortal emotional attachments. That begged the question of why it cut deep now.

"I want to know the motherfucker who turned you into this." Nines answered as though it were the most obvious answer in the world.

Rosalynn shouldered the stab of heartache behind an impressively held stoicism. "That doesn't concern you. What's done is done."

"Not until I tear the bastard's head off his neck," Nines pointed out with a bloodthirsty smile curling his lips. "I'll make him bleed for all the seventy odd years you've been walking around as that."

"And what's so wrong with it, Nines?" Rosalynn tried a new approach. One that felt a lot truer than outright antagonism. "You've taken to it well."

"I had no choice."

"Yeah, well neither did I."

Nines sighed. This was impossible. Resigning himself to the fact that Rosalynn was not about to give up all her secrets, he leaned against the wall again and crossed his arms across his impressively broad chest. Tucking his chin to his chest again the way he always did when thinking, he let the next few seconds go by without a word until he finally couldn't take it anymore.

"Will you at least tell me how?" He asked this time rather than demanded. Surprise, surprise – Rosalynn actually appeared to soften. "C'mon, Ros... gimme that much. It's been tearin' me apart for decades."

Immediately she returned to him and sat down on the chair where he had been.

"It was three years after you... well, you know," Rosalynn started with a faulty smile. Willing reaching back into her vast pool of memories wasn't exactly an endeavour she looked forward to. But with Nines there, looking at her the way he used to, she managed to continue. "It was after Emily went away. I... I started drinking a bit."

That revelation made Nines' brows shoot up curiously. Rosalynn was never much of a drinker in life, save for the occasional sips of wine. Rosalynn noticed his reaction and gave a weak smile, somewhat embarrassed.

"Yeah, I know," She read his thoughts as clearly as though he'd spoke them. "Anyway... One night I got cornered in an alley. I was already wasted so I didn't really notice when I got hauled up. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a plush hotel with two gaping holes in my neck and my sire lying in bed next to me. Naked."

Rosalynn deliberately revealed more than she had to, just to test him. It was true, that she and Marius had one night of sex that she couldn't remember though she was sure her sire did. Not that she cared to remember. What mattered was the moments after she realised she was dead – and right now, to see the angry flare of Nines' nostrils and how tense his whole body became. So he does still care. Deciding not to let him dwell on it too long, she continued.

"My sire explained to me about kindred society and our need to protect it. He told me the importance of the Masquerade, and..." Rosalynn hesitated.

Nines gently touched her arm. "And?"

Rosalynn willed the words into her mouth. Pathetically they came out barely above a mouse squeak. "And... what happened to you."

Nines damn near lost his mind. "Wait... what?"

Rosalynn gauged his reaction carefully before going on. "I was barely two months as kindred when he told me why he selected me from all the other women in the bar that night." By this time her eyes were glassy and her voice barely reaching Nines' ears. She was clearly lost in the memory. Emotion thickened her voice. "He told me it was because of you."

"Me?"

"Yes. He said that three years earlier you had been taken by kindred. That you were powerful in kindred society, and that he had to have me once he discovered I was your wife."

Nothing could have prepared Nines for that. Struck dumb, he left Rosalynn's side and moved across the room. "Holy shit." He spun around and levelled her with an incredulous look. "You've known I was kindred all this time?"

Sadness swept over Rosalynn's face and she managed a ghost of a smile. "I've spent seventy years trying to find what happened to you." Her voice was on the verge of crumbling under the weight of heartache.

"Fuck it." Nines abandoned all restraint and crossed back to her, snatching up her head in both hands and bringing her mouth perilously close to his. He wanted to kiss her. And kill her. The torrent of conflicting desires had him on the edge of sanity, and it didn't help that he couldn't look away from her eyes.

"You knew all this time," He grounded out the words in an animalistic growl. "You knew, and you're _still_ Camarilla?"

Rosalynn forgave the harshness with which he blasphemed the Camarilla. Such insolence was not unknown to thuggish Anarch, as hard as it was to swallow the blatant fact that everything her sire fed her about Nines' embrace and subsequent 'demise' was all a lie. Deflecting Nines' scathing accusation as well as hardening herself against the hurt that cut through her, Rosalynn nodded.

"He fed me everything I needed to know to bring me to the cusp an insatiable need for revenge. He told me you were leading the cause for the Camarilla. He told me you were turned to ash just before my embrace, by the Anarchs. _That _became my cause." Rosalynn stopped as the memory replaying in her mind stripped her of the ability to talk. She needed a moment to recover before going on. "That's why I decided to join the Camarilla. To avenge you. To discover the truth."

That was all it took to snatch the heat out of Nines' temper. Since meeting his wife for the first time in decades, he knew only her fierce temper, arrogance, cunning manipulation and her not-so-elegant adoption of the modern adaption of English. To learn that it was her love for him, and the burning need to avenge him that rode her to the heights of Camarilla success, floored him. Rosalynn wanted to giggle at the astonishment that overcame him, but the sombreness of the moment kept her face dull and tired.

It occurred to her then that Nines was still inches away from her lips. Hungrily taking sight of his mouth and then his eyes, and then back to his mouth, Rosalynn felt the upsurge of desire tantalise her cold blood. A glimpse at Nines' eyes told her he was going through the exact same thing. Without meaning to, her hands went to his waist. The same thickness of muscles she remembered committing to her memory on their wedding night greeted her fingers. She was remembering so much more than she wanted to. Inhaling sharply, Rosalynn fought to tame the flare-up of old-time feelings that weren't at all as out-dated as she'd hoped.

"I spent the first decades doing nothing but rising up through the Camarilla, establishing alliances and forging friendships, all to find my way back to the one who murdered you," She forced herself to go on, to at least salvage a little dignity. Neither she nor Nines attempted to let the other go. "The ones after that became a blur. New York became my husband and my child. The city needed me to rule, and I knew only I could bring the order the warring factions needed."

Nines had to bite his tongue, disturbed to be hearing the voice of a Prince supplant the once-independent, free-spirited woman he had loved. She was as warped to the Camarilla as a Prince of her standing should be. Sensing she wasn't done, he didn't try to interrupt. Politics can wait for another night, since he will make damn sure she won't be going anywhere.

"I never forgot you though," Rosalynn whispered breathily, her voice snagging on the tears her dead heart shed. "I've always dreamed of finding you again. But that's where I kept you. In dreams."

"I'm here. Not a dream," Nines tried his best to crack through the resolve of Rosalynn, so entrenched in her loyalties to the Camarilla. "Not Camarilla."

_No__where near Camarilla. _

"I came to Los Angeles because my city is falling apart," Rosalynn admitted without taking note of what he said. Nines saw it in her face, that she was forcing herself to admit it. The poor girl didn't have it in her to lie to him, not when her heart and body were spent of all its energy. "New York has been besieged by those fucking mongrels, the Sabbat. I had to get out after they ambushed us. I came here because Strauss has contacts that I could use."

"Strauss knew you were coming here?"

"Yes." Rosalynn paused to take note of Nines' surprise, and she rolled her eyes. "Oh come on. Don't tell me you don't think he was playing us both."

"I knew the ol' bastard had it in him. Just didn't occur to me he'd use one of his own as bait," Nines admitted, thinking it strange that Strauss would stoop to Lacroix-levels of deception. Usually the Regent, as repulsive and arrogant as he was, actually kept to obeying the rule book he so tirelessly worked to enforce.

"Neither did I, since Lucas assured me of his credibility as an anti-Lacroix," Rosalynn lured him out of his mediation.

Nines frowned. "Lucas?"

"My Lieutenant."

"Oh." Of course Rosie has a second-in-command to order the dirty deeds of her office; as Lacroix had the Sheriff.

Then something else equally intriguing occurred to him. "You hated Lacroix?"

At ease for the first time, Rosalynn quirked a brow in amusement. A flighty smile graced her lips. "Who didn't?"

Even odder was the slight smile that caught Nines by surprise. It hurt his damn cheeks, it had been so long. Knowing Rosie was not a fan of Lacroix appeased his disgust of her affiliation just a little. Now he didn't feel quite so disgusting for touching her without bleeding her.

"You belong with us." He said; the joy nowhere evident in his voice.

Rosalynn's whole face dimmed when her smile went away. "What?"

"Don't play me for a fool, Rosie. You know better," Nines said. "You fight like a Brujah, and are as passionate as any Anarch. You have the cunning of the Camarilla but aren't clouded in bullshit like Lacroix or Strauss. You ain't Camarilla in heart, and you know it."

Rosalynn's benign eyes turned dangerous. "Excuse me?"

But it was too late to extinguish the idea that excitedly gripped Nines. The idea of having his wife by his side, with her affinity for fighting and using the depth of her influence in a city such as New York, together they'd be a formidable team. His demons would finally be slayed. And he'd have his Rosalynn back. Maybe fate wasn't quite a mean-spirited bitch after all.

"I'm here, Rosie. Not dead. Not Camarilla. I ain't ever had anything to do with them. Come join us." Nines drew her closer until his mouth was hovering on hers. The promise of a kiss would seal them in a new, eternal life – and destroy everything Rosalynn had worked for. As tempting as the promise was, she couldn't do it.

"You've got to be kidding me." Rosalynn stepped out of his arms and backed away.

"Trust me, sweetheart, I'm far from joking. You got no reason to stay there. Your whole reason for joining them is a lie."

The more he thought about it, the more Nines was convinced Rosalynn would make a formidable ally. The more his excitement grew. She could infiltrate them into the top ranks of the Camarilla – after all, one doesn't ascend to the top of New York kindred society without making it to the top order of the whole organisation. That city was prized by any Camarilla kindred clammering for power.

Seeing she needed more convincing, Nines slipped easily back into the role of the comforting husband. Cornering her, he drew near to her and caught her in his arms. Rosalynn tensed and braced herself against him, whispering for him to let her go – but heard the emptiness in her voice. She didn't want him to let her go. The longer they spent together the closer she came to harnessing the _old _Rosalynn.

"I'm here Rosie," Nines drawled softly, easing the tension from her back with softest caresses along the length of her spine. He caught her eyes before she could avoid him. "I ain't Camarilla. Gimme a chance to make up for walkin' away that night. Your blood is Ventrue but it ain't gotta be Camarilla, honey. Let me show you the night the way you're meant to experience it. No laws. No Masquerade. Just you and the night."

Spellbound by his eyes Rosalynn came close to renouncing her affiliation on the spot. She felt his charm coursing through her. Biting back her lip to keep it down, she fought his words as they weaved through her. That, and his touch, would've turned a lesser woman into a puddle of emotions and oestrogen. Thank God she no longer carried either. Well, at least not the latter.

"You have no idea what you're asking me." Rosalynn darkly said, and untied herself from his arms.

Nines sighed. This was gonna be harder than he wanted. Glancing at his watch, the night was soon to give way to morning. 5:03am.

"You sure have developed a spine since 1936," He remarked cynically, catching an icy stare from the woman.

"Fuck you." Rosalynn spat as she finally regained sense, shaking her head free of its vice. Trust her to nearly lose herself to his charm. Nines hadn't lost an ounce of it since he died.

Nines snorted, and crossed his arms over his chest arrogantly. "Sorry, baby. Not my thing. But you remember, don't you..."

He again intruded on her space, and followed her across the room. Rosalynn tried to shrink away, but being vastly underfed and facing two days straight without more than a couple hours sleep, she gave up resistance easily as Nines backed her into the corner for a third straight time. This time he pinned her to the wall; arm out-stretched to either side.

"You remember, Rosie," Nines smirked, searching her eyes. Oh yes, she remembered alright. Shame and fury blended together gave her an expression he couldn't readily identify, but it was amusing nonetheless. "Remember this..."

He didn't wait for permission to steal her mouth in a kiss, claiming with such a force that he forced Rosalynn's back to the wall. Her mind reeled against the fleshly urges consummated in the one kiss. This is exactly how she remembered him during their marriage. Fortunately this time Rosalynn held on to what she was – and what he was trying to do. She wasn't about to let him use his charisma to devastate her senses again. Running her hands up to his pectorals, she shoved him away and abruptly ended the kiss.

"Don't you fucking dare," She skewered him with a devastating glare. "I know what you're trying to do."

Nines crossed his arms, and returned an intimidating stare. "And what's that, darlin'?"

"You can't charm me like you do those pathetic sheep you got following you around," Rosalynn stated, referring obviously to Skelter, Damsel and Kali. "I'm not the weak-ass woman you married. And I sure as hell won't tolerate your bullshit anymore, Nines Rodriguez. Our vows died the moment _you_ did."

"A'right Miss Prince, tell me then how you're gonna explain to your Cammy dicks just how it came to be that in life you were married to me." Nines settled directly across from her.

Rosalynn blanched. That was something she never considered. If and when her superiors discovered her marriage to Nines, they'd quickly move to expel her from the top ranks of the Camarilla. She'd lose her status, through no fault of her own – but she was well-versed in Camarilla codes and regulations. Anything that smelled even faintly of impropriety was a justification for dismissal and, in more serious cases, execution.

"They won't find out." Rosalynn answered hotly, though not entirely convinced of that. By the looks of it, neither was he.

Nines snorted. "Sure, _princess_. Tell yourself whatever you need to be convinced of that horseshit."

That's another thing she didn't like. Being mocked was not something a Prince tolerated much of, and for anyone else would've earned them a brutal end. Yet Nines sat across from her knowing she wouldn't make such an attempt on his unlife.

"What else do you need to realise the Camarilla isn't necessary?" Nines added when Rosalynn came up with no response. "When are you gonna wake up and smell the shit stinkin' up that pretty head of yours, sweetheart?"

"Don't, Nines. Don't bring your politics into this now." Rosalynn warned.

Nines arched his brows again. "This isn't about politics."

"Then what's this about?"

"I don't want you infected by them anymore." He answered her with surprising honesty.

Rosalynn let out a hollow laugh. "Such a fool." Her expression darkened. "Just like in life."

"Look what they turned you into." Nines continued his verbal assault without much consideration for insulting her. If insulting her meant pulling rescuing her from the web of deceit she was embroiled in, then so be it.

Neither were convinced he had her best interests at heart – not when he was so keen to have her jump straight into another war with him. Knowing that gave Rosalynn the fortitude to reserve her refusal in her eyes, leaving no doubt that he saw it. Steeling herself against any Anarch was always something she did with ease. Doing so against the charm and natural likeability of Nines? Well that required a whole new realm of strength.

Being locked in this cage with him did not help matters at all. Every time he neared her, the ornery bastard nearly reduced her to her knees. In the few minutes she had between those three Anarchs leaving, and Nines arrive, she had tried to brace herself for the flood of emotions that threatened her harm. Then again no amount of preparation had conjured enough to repel Nines' annoying charismatic appeal. He had once seduced her with it when they were alive, and from then she had been his to manipulate and mould to his will. Tonight she won't let him do the same thing.

Nines reached out to touch her, but this time Rosalynn had it in mind to slap his hand away before he got anywhere near her face.

"I'm not your wife anymore," Rosalynn fiercely declared through gritted teeth. "You can't do that to me anymore, Nines. And I'll never be your puppet. I'll never let you use me."

Nines blinked, astonished. "Use you? When the fuck did I ever use you?"

"You know exactly what I'm talking about." Rosalynn began to circle him; the hunted now the hunter as she paced slowly around him. "You used me and Emily in life to justify that ego of yours. It's because of you that we are like this now."

She made a sweeping gesture over them both, a definitive indicator of their wretched state of death.

"It's because of you that we are here tonight, and don't you dare deny it."

He wasn't going to. No one had to tell Nines Rodriguez he was responsible for his family's suffering – least of her all. Jaw and fists clenched, Nines quickly transformed from charming to monster in less than a mortal heartbeat.

"Don't you think I know it?" He spoke softly, though with a harsh edge. "Don't you think I regret every day the decision I made that night?"

"Well it sure doesn't look it." Rosalynn bitterly snipped. "You left me to raise our child alone. You leaving forced me to work where I should've been at home making sure she was safe. It was _you_ Nines who steered this course for us. Not fate."

Using Emily to stab at him some more, she stormed towards him with a new proverbial sword to cut Nines down to appropriate size – as nothing more than an egotistical fool who had destroyed their lives to relieve the burden on his ego. Her eyes poured hatred and decades-old resentment out on him, a burn Nines felt all too easily.

"You were supposed to look after her. You were her mother." He gritted out, stoking his own anger.

Another fight was quickly upon them, only this time timid, young Rosalynn was just a ghost. Here stood Rosalynn – new persona, new attitude, and new power.

Rosalynn's glare stabbed him with her hate all over again. "That's right, Nines. I was her mother. And her father. And her provider. I had to become the things you were meant to be, but left in your absence. I had to work twelve fucking hours just to make sure we could eat. I blamed myself for years for not being there to stop what happened to her. But not anymore."

"You blame me."

"Damn right I do. And I know you do too."

"What about one after me?" Nines suddenly remembered the guy he found them with in Los Angeles for Emily's birthday. A jealous heat nearly bowled him over. He was livid.

Rosalynn looked at him as though he'd turned into an alien. "What other man?"

"The one with you for Emily's ninth birthday," Nines clarified. "You looked pretty cosy with him. Why didn't he take care of you?"

It took a few seconds for Rosalynn to catch on – and when she did, it hit her like a freight trains. Her eyes widened.

"You were there?" She said it accusingly.

Nines nodded only once. "I saw it all, darlin'. You just didn't see me. And if I find out he's the one who embraced you, I'll-"

He couldn't finish that sentence as anger nearly threw him into a blind rage. Thank god he was well fed, or else his inner beast would have come out right then. Rosalynn looked stunned, almost as if she couldn't believe he had discovered a dirty little secret of hers. Then when the shock went away, she looked guilty as sin.

"I... I... how did you see?"

"I came to L.A. to get _away_ from you and Emily." Nines explained. "I didn't want you seeing what I became. Who was he, Rosie?"

The tug-of-war between them left Rosalynn reeling on the defensive again as he backed her up to a wall, the danger on his face just daring her to make him unleash on her.

"He was no one of importance." She said honestly.

The truth was she had tried to move on after Nines left. Since she couldn't support Emily alone, she had no choice to open her heart – or rather, her bed – to a new man. It worked for a while, until the ache of Nines' absence became too much to bear, and she told the Matthew Orion to leave. Rosalynn quickly explained it to Nines, and not surprisingly, it didn't abate his anger one bit.

"How the fuck do you know it wasn't him that took her?" Nines hissed, realising a terrifying thought.

And for the first time in decades, that same realisation smacked the anger right off Rosalynn's face. She clamped a hand over her mouth. "Oh shit."

It never occurred to her before that Matthew had a part in her daughter's disappearance. Throwing Nines a desperate look, Rosalynn saw the same conclusion in his eyes. She wanted to die all over again.

"I swear by God, Ros... tell me the truth, was he the one that took her?" Nines threw out a hand and caught her throat, squeezing until he had her secured against the wall.

Rosalynn clawed at his hand, but it was useless. Nines had more power in one hand than she did in her entire being right now. Damn it to hell that they gave her just enough fresh blood to sustain her for this torture, and not enough to fight. Typical Anarchs.

"I don't know," Rosalynn managed to choke out; her face wearing the panic that stormed through her. "Nines, I don't know—"

She didn't want to know. Nines roared angrily and threw her down, feeling disgust crawl over him. He paced around like a maniac, every so often throwing her his most damning glare. Rosalynn's eyes lowered. Why it hadn't been so obvious? Then again she never usually let herself dwell on Emily's disappearance. It was the one thing that destroyed her humanity day by day more strongly than Nines' disappearance ever had caused. After a while it became easier to assume he just walked away from them, of his own will. But Emily would never have run away. The child was too innocent for such recklessness. The thought that she had brought the reason for Emily's death into their house made Rosalynn want to vomit.

"Oh God," She uttered a broken whisper behind her hand. "It can't have been."

She dared to glance up at Nines, still pacing in front of her like a caged lion. He stopped in front of her. The trace of affection she had briefly felt in him was long gone, replaced with pure rage. Nines jabbed a finger at her, and came at her until that finger dug at her chest.

"_You_ got our daughter killed," Nines accused; the accusation casting him in a dangerous new light. "For that I should put you down right here..."

Of course he should, if he was right. Ever the true diplomat, however, she made herself appear calm above the storm wildly thrashing her from within. Behind a front of impressive stoicism, Rosalynn gently pushed his finger out of her way.

"I don't know what happened to her, Nines. That's the truth."

Nines grunted. "You Camarilla fucks don't know what truth is."

This was getting them nowhere. There were other nights to talk about Emily, but with the raw energy stealing reason from them now, it shouldn't be this night. Rosalynn decided a change of subject was needed.

"So what happens now?" She said as defiantly as she could. "We can stay in here all day throwing accusations at each other; we've both had seventy goddamn years to rehearse them. What are you going to do to me?"

Nines huffed an angry sigh. Like it or not, she knew he couldn't bring himself to harm a dead hair on her head. Not yet at least. Even if the time came when he had to put her down, there was no way to enjoy it. If there was even the slightest chance to rescue Rosalynn from her brainwashed state, to join him, he'd take it. Not just because he was a selfish bastard and wanted his wife at his side, but for more practical reasons as well. Rosalynn could get him into the top ranks of the Camarilla and destroy them from the inside. She was also a formidable fighter from what he had seen of the mess she and Jack made.

Sensing she was waiting for his answer, Nines looked up – his frustration etched clearly in his weathered face.

"You're going nowhere, baby. You know I can't let you leave."

"Why? Scared of me?" Rosalynn smirked, teasing him when she knew she shouldn't. As he should be. Clearly Nines still looked at her as the pathetic woman he knew in life. That will change.

To her disappointment, Nines didn't react except with a shrug. "Another Prince trolling Los Angeles just nights after we've ended one ain't exactly gonna do us much good. Should've stayed in New York. Don't need you runnin' your mouth off to Strauss."

A shallow chuckle left Rosalynn. "What makes you think I'd turn to that asshole after what he's done?"

Good point. But still not a chance worth taking. Until Nines uncovered the real reason why she was here, and until she told him the full truth, he wasn't about to let her run her little games in his city. Not when Los Angeles – and California – had come so close to losing its Free State status.

Rosalynn slumped down on the nearest chair and hung her hair. Too many conversations rolled into one. She suspected the shock of being together again and too many unresolved issues that hung between them were to blame. Still that didn't stop her head spinning right now. Silent seconds turned to minutes as the Anarch and the Prince hung back in their respective corners, only now too pissed off to be near the other. Every so often Rosalynn caught Nines staring at her in a strange way, as an array of emotions fought to dominate his still handsome face.

Death only enhanced Rosalynn's ethereal beauty, not detracted from it in any way. Nines inwardly cursed her for it. A stunner in life, it was quite evident fate had bestowed beauty as a gift on her in death – no doubt to take full advantage of her domination discipline, as well as manipulation.

When the silence became too much, Nines slammed an open hand against the wall. The force startled Rosalynn as the walls around her shook.

"Goddamn it," Nines shook his head but the intense pressure wasn't lessening.

"What?"

He looked at her with the intent of seeing her as his enemy. Of course, he couldn't. Nines sighed dejectedly. "It's fucking impossible."

Intrigued, Rosalynn forgot to be angry with him when she left her perch to cross over to him. "What's _fucking_ impossible?"

Nines took in her approach with wary eyes. Though he knew she wouldn't match him in a fight in the state she was in, he was careful lest she throw domination at him. It surprised him that Rosalynn hadn't even attempt to harness her disciplines. What surprised him more was that he hadn't used any of his own. It was like neither could bring themselves to bear down their nature on the other. The words on his tongue tasted foul, but Rosalynn was waiting for an answer.

"This whole damn mess," Nines quietly admitted, eased slightly by the gentleness of her face. She always had a way of putting him at ease. He made sure had her eyes when he said the next bit, "To want to kill someone you once loved beyond measure."

Rosalynn didn't expect the sharp stab in her chest where her stagnant heart lay. It was the kind of admission one, she was quickly learning, doesn't ever hear from the courageous Nines Rodriguez. Had she not carried the blood and knowledge she did, and had she still carried the mortal love for him she used to, she would've been dazzled by what her man has become – a champion for the poor; the oppressed; the weak. Just like he always wanted to do in life. If this were still life, she would have been so proud.

"I know what you mean," Rosalynn said in a low, yet dignified voice. "You want to kill me."

"Damn right!" Suddenly Nines was enraged again, his voice nothing but animalistic lust for blood. Rosalynn backed off as he stood, and towered over the sylphlike Prince.

"Goddamn it, Rosalynn." After marching a short distance, Nines turned and pinned her to the wall with his imposing glare. "You said you became Camarilla to avenge me, well look. Look around you, sweetheart. There's nothing to avenge. I'm here, right in front of you. Everything you know from that so-called sire of yours is bullshit. What does it got to take to pull you out of your blindness? 'Bout time you woke up, darlin'. Your place is here, with me."

He hadn't meant to say that last part, but it was the truth. Unaffected by his passion, Rosalynn channelled the inner-royalty she possessed as Prince – even if she didn't look it. Calm and not biting to his aggression, she met his eyes with a fierce challenge – one that possessed all the confidence of a woman who wasn't about to be bested.

"Is that so, Nines?" She quietly answered; her voice calm and dignified. "Just like my place was in the home, with Emily?"

To that, Nines had no clever answer. He stiffened. "That isn't what I was talking about."

"No, I know exactly what you're saying," Rosalynn hotly said and she seated herself on the chair once more, hooking one leg over the other. "Let's face some hard truths here. The reason why we're here now is because you didn't trust me when we were alive. Instead you went out crusading on your own, as if you could single-handedly find a cure to the Depression. You kept me in the dark, didn't tell me anything even when you were home, and then went out into the early hours and drank yourself into a coma. The fact is, _honey_, secrets were _your_ game. I am not going to be played like that again, not by you or anyone. Look at me, Nines."

Rosalynn gestured over herself. True, she looked like shit. But she wasn't going to act weak, as Nines clearly expected her to. The bastard had the gall to believe she would still coming running to him after all this time – after all she had achieved.

"I've achieved everything I have without _you. _I've done it alone." Aside from some fragile alliances she had forged on her quest for Princehood in New York, Rosalynn wasn't lying. She trapped Nines with a gaze she reserved for when she was sitting across from other Princes. "Everything I am; everything I set out to do, I did it without you in my ear – or my bed – convincing me that you could handle everything. Clearly you can't. Look what happened when you disappeared. You _really_ handled that one, honey."

Across the room her rant was stirring its desired effect. Nines' dark mood took on a sinister turn as his eyes clouded over to become unreadable. An ironic smile teased the corners of Rosalynn's mouth. She's getting under his skin. Meanwhile, Nines' ears bled as blind rage took his entire body hostage. He took it all back – she does have the filthy mouth and defiled heart of the Camarilla.

"Face it, Nines. I've become something more than you ever could. You can run around with your thugs, beat your chest, and roar as loudly as you want at the perceived injustices you so richly believe the Camarilla are responsible for. It does not make one speck of difference. You can't see that you need the Masquerade. But you can see what I am. I have standing over you, whether you want to believe it or not. I'm not your wife anymore, honey. I don't bow to you. I will not jump when you say to, or sit when I'm told. I won't sit back and let you destroy me as you did once, and then sit by why you try to turn our society into chaos. I won't sit back and let you destroy our centuries-old society just because you want a taste of the glory you were not man enough to achieve in life. Don't you see it, honey?"

Rosalynn paused to let the dramatic silence take effect. Her smile widened just a little as her words carved through his pride a little more.

"I succeeded without you. My place is not with you or at your side. My place is to govern New York, and give all kindred – even you ungrateful Anarchs – the freedoms to do as you please. I achieved it without you. I do not need you, Nines. I never will need you again. I am better than you, and you know it."

The final nerve was stepped on, and set off a reaction she should have anticipation. Nines snarled, baring his fangs as he charged her. Rosalynn went to move but found herself boxed in by a towering stack of boxes filled with alcohol. Panic swept over her, but not enough time to register it when a hard blow slammed her into the wall. When the dust settled and the dizziness stopped, Rosalynn blinked and looked around to find herself hauled up at least two feet off the ground. Unbelieveably she still managed to crack a smile – Nines immediately recognised it as the same smile belonging to all the arrogant Camarilla shits he clashed swords with on many nights. His throat constricted his anger in his throat before he could explode it on to her.

"Do it, honey." Rosalyn brokenly taunted as he squeezed his fingers tighter. Her delicate hands curled around the one hand Nines had secured to her throat. "Kill your wife for the second time."

He couldn't believe how badly the Camarilla infected her. All Nines saw was a spirit not belonging to Rosalynn, but one that had merely resembled itself to her likeness. Brimming on the edge of chaos spilling out of him, Nines roughly lowered her to the ground and slammed her into the wall again. He glimpsed the all-too brief flash of fear in her eyes before he spun her around and face-planted her to the wall; using his weight to flatten her stomach against the cement. Rosalynn screeched for him to let her go, but her furious demands were rebuffed when Nines hooked a thick arm around her throat – effectively turning her screeching into pathetic squeaks. He leaned into her ear; his fangs biting at the lobe...

"I'm sorry." He gritted out; the words barely reaching her under the heavy fusion of rage, regret and unspent heartache.

Rosalynn blinked her shock, since she couldn't exactly say anything. It was last thing she expected him to say. Nines easily ignored her thrashing; his strength overpowering her weakness without any effort at all. He kept his mouth at her ear, willing himself to say the apology he had practiced in solitude for decades...

"I'm sorry for walking out on you that night. I'm sorry for all those nights I left you alone in our bed. I'm sorry for all the times you had to lie to Emily. I'm sorry more than you'll _ever_ understand," Nines' voice was an emotional-type of angry that was rare to hear these nights. His words pained with regret, it took a mighty bite out of his pride to keep going. "I understand and deserve your hatred, Rosie. I accepted it many moons ago. Now you'll understand why I gotta do this..."

On cue his arm tightened across her neck, and Rosalynn's eyes practically rolled from their sockets. Answering the silent question he felt burning beneath her skin, Nines kept his mouth at her ear.

"I'd rather you burn to ash rather than know you as _this_." With his free arm circled around her tiny waist, Nines had her right where she wanted him. All he needed to do now was twist that gorgeous head free of her neck...

Rosalynn couldn't say anything with the mammoth stretch of muscles putting the squeeze to her trachea, but the rush of blood to her ears confirmed her panic to them both. Her fight was waning, but still she had some kick in her.

"What are you doing?" She gasped out.

Nines pressed his weight into her, until Rosalynn was effectively sandwiched between him and the wall.

"Don't you remember, honey? You used to love being manhandled."

"Get your hands off me."

"Nuh-uh. Play nice, baby."

Now he was just toying with her. Driving her to the brink of total, irrational madness was something, as an Anarch, Nines took pride in. Rosalynn's furious scream was priceless. Since he had her secured against him, he took his time in marking each unique feature he had come to know in life. The long jagged scar cutting across the back of her neck retold the time when Rosie nearly drowned in a Canadian lake on the eve of their fifth wedding anniversary. Nines drifted into the memory easily, of the night when he and she fought like mad only to have the obstinate woman storm from the cabin in a right state of irrationality. In her blind rage, Rosalynn tried the easiest way to escape Nines – by stealing the boat from its place at the tiny dock and trying to row it anywhere far from him. Nines had watched on amusedly, partly fuelled by his anger that night and partly by the sheer comedy of watching that dainty wife of his try to do a man's job. His humour vaporised the moment the dingy capsized into the gelid water and Rosalynn's shocked scream was silenced by the frost. The moment she slipped in was the moment he dove right in after her, swimming against the sudden drop in his core body temperature to dive to where he saw her disappear. It seemed like forever but in within the second he had her in his arms. It was a gallant effort to take them both to shore, compounded by the artic freeze taking over them both. In short order he, by some miracle, had them both in the cabin and draped in every layer of blanket the cabin carried. Shrouded by the warmth of the fire, Nines held her as close to him as physically possible, pleading with her through the gravest pain in his heart to come back to him. The thought of losing her gutted him to pieces. Thank God his Rosie came back to him by the shallowest, quietest of whimpers – she had taken another breath.

Nines blinked, and the memory vanished – its power stealing away his resolve to end Rosalynn like this. Stunned into silence, he didn't notice his hold on her weaken and Rosalynn slid out of his grasp. She staggered a short distance away before turning around – keeping her back planted against the wall.

"You're out of your goddamn skull!" she fumed.

Rosalynn stared at him, and her anger settled into a gentle simmer when she noticed Nines' vacant eyes. He was definitely elsewhere – though his body remained committed firmly between her and the door. No escape possible.

"Nines!" Rosalynn snapped, hands on hips. She wasn't accustomed to being ignored. "What the hell is wrong with you? Look at me!"

At her command, Nines raised his gaze. Only then did he seem to wake up to the fact that somehow she'd ended up across the room. He didn't look angry, but Rosalynn hung back – she wasn't big on taking chances. Still, the look on his face wasn't right.

It took the Prince completely by surprised when he walked across the room, this time without an angry stride, and took out of his back pocket a length of rope. Rosalynn spied the item with a raised brow. She glanced at Nines with intrigue.

"Do you always just happen to carry rope around like that?"

Nines was unfazed, and picked up her wrists. Silently he spun her around and pinned her to the wall, ignoring Rosalynn's squirming as he bound her wrists. It wasn't until he turned her around again that he said anything.

"You're coming with me," He stated coldly. This time he easily resisted the allure of her eyes, only by remembering that this woman was no longer _his_ woman.

"Where?" Rosalynn had to ask.

"You'll see…"

**A SHORT TIME LATER...**

Rosalynn stared at him as though he'd sprouted another head to go with that monolithic ego of his as she stared around the bedroom. _His_ bedroom. "You can't seriously expect me to stay in here, do you?"

Nines crossed his arms, ending the debate with an insouciant shrug of his shoulders. "Can't leave you to tear apart now L.A., now can I? I'll keep an eye on you myself."

"I'm not going to fuck you."

To that, a bemused smile graced Nines' face, before it suddenly vanished. "Do you see me undressing?"

Rosalynn looked from head-to-toe over his larger than life build, and couldn't help but remember the when she knew that magnificent body more intimately than she knew her own. A pang to her chest told her she almost wished it was so again. But of course that didn't change the fact that the Nines she once knew was dead – and in his place stood this arrogant fool.

"So why are you locking me in here if it isn't to defile me with your filth?"

"It's the only way I'll know you'll be safe. That you'll have time to think."

"About?"

"About how you came to lose your damn mind, that's what." Nines coldly snapped. He refused to belief the old Rosalynn was completely gone, and he knew that in the way she talked and got all hot whenever he pushed her buttons. Just the way the old Rosie did. She's still buried in that dead heart somewhere.

"And then what?" Rosalynn challenged, forgetting for a moment that she was in mind-bending pain as she rose up off the filthy bed and came up to him – face-to-chest. Forced to crane her neck to reach his eyes, her chiselled expression didn't move. "Are we going to stay locked in this game forever? Nines, for once in your damn life _and_ unlife, think about the consequences. We have three options here. One, you let me go and I do what I came here to do, and then leave forever leaving you with only the ghost of my presence. Two, we stay in this room arguing back and forth until _another_ goddamn seventy years happen. Or three..."

Her eyes narrowed sharply. "You kill me. If you can."

"Yeah, the thing is sweetheart, none of them is good enough," Nines casually pushed away from the wall and strolled circles around her with an arrogant swagger; his arms loosely crossed over his chest. A dangerous gleam in his eyes completed the look he carried so well – pure danger. When he was in front of her once more, he reached down and snatched up the rope that bound her hands, wanting her to feel him in control. "I'm not letting you leave. And I'm not going to turn you to dust."

"You asshole!" Rosalynn couldn't think enough foul things to call him. Being called an asshole didn't heat up his anger at all – by the looks of it, Nines was used to it.

"You see, there it is princess. You speak like an Anarch, fight like one, and know the truth that your precious Camarilla lied to you at every moment. What more proof do you need then the fact that I'm standing right fucking here!"

"We need the Masquerade. We-"

"Don't. Don't you fucking dare, woman." Nines jabbed a finger in her face, as he wrenched her tightly against him.

The denial of more blood had worked wonders to sap the Prince of any fight she had in her, so it was easily for him to palm her around without much effort.

"Now… you're going to stay in here and behave," Nines said darkly and then guided her attention to her previous means of escape. "And don't even think about an escape. This time I'll have people posted at every conceivable exit out of here."

"You can't keep me locked in here like some caged animal!" Rosalynn shoved his chest, but like the brick wall he was, Nines didn't budge. Instead he smiled that way he always does when he knows he's won. He backed her up and threw her down on the bed.

"Get some sleep. You look like shit." Nines ignored the deranged look she levelled him with, and headed for the door – stopping only to spare a tired glance at the very reason he had all these years to cherish the measure of humanity he had claimed since his embrace. As much as he wished it so, he couldn't find that humanity in her at all.

And looking at her right then, Nines knew as he pulled the door shut that the devastation and heartbreak Rosalynn wore on her face was something else he'd never forget…


	13. Chapter 13

**Rekindled Humanity Chapter 13**

The longer she sat in this filth, the more she wished she truly was dead. All around her, Rosalynn took in the trappings of Anarch life. Unclean. Hostile. A hard unlife, to be sure. But they did it to themselves, so it hardly earned her sympathy.

Resigned to her temporary fate, Rosalynn toured the room in a slow circle, eager for a new distraction from being stuck in this 'dwelling'. At least now she could think. The blitz of emotion now long gone, now she can actually get her head around it all!

"Well... shit" Running a hand through her hair, she flopped down on the bed.

Not much else could be said. In the span of three nights she had gone from power absolute to absolute nothing.

"I am better than this. I am more than this. Goddamn it, Rosalynn!"

Balling her fists in her hair, Rosalynn tried to squeeze the thoughts out. Try as she might, they wouldn't go. The lies, the murder, the grief… all of it was worthless! Her _legacy_ was worthless!

And then there was him. No matter how hard she tried to rationalise it; to let her nature overcome the memories, there was always him. A walking testament to her history. Nines Rodriquez, in all his charming glory. Her mind wandered back to the man who pummelled her to near death tonight. Angry. Volatile. Charismatic. And a natural air of leadership. Apart from the charisma, Rosalynn couldn't remember him possessing those other qualities in life. The Nines Rodriguez she met tonight was a shell of the man she knew, and that was helpful. At least when she is strong enough to take him on, it will be slightly less painful putting him down. Slightly.

Oh God the stupidity of this idea to come here. A small giggle bounced off the walls, arousing Rosalynn out of her stupor. And then another giggle. It took her half a minute to realise the giggle was her own, and in that moment of realisation, descended into hysteria.

"Oh Lord, Lucas, if you could see me now."

"Well that's an odd response to your situation."

Rosalynn screamed and in that same instance spun around. There, leaning against the bedroom door that she hadn't heard open, stood a small redhead kindred wearing a green beret and a loathing expression. She wore a sickly grin that radiated malice rather than kindness. Numb in her shock, Rosalynn waited until she felt a semblance of dignity simmer to her surface before daring to speak.

"Who the hell are you?" She demanded in a tone fit for royalty.

The mystery girl laughed. "Well lookie here… that ain't language fit for a Ventrue princess."

"Answer my question."

Despite looking like shit, Rosalynn stood her ground and levelled the intruder with a glare that could chill boiling water. The girl didn't blanch, which surprised her. Then again, she probably would have been more chilling had she not looked like she did now.

The girl fell quiet and her face sullen.

"I'm Damsel," she said after a long silence. "I run this place and Elysium next door. So, if l were you, unless you want your ass evicted to the sun, I suggest you learn your fucking manners."

"Well you're not me."

Rosalynn approached her slowly and kept a calculated distance. It was then she got her first real look at Damsel. Quite small, but a huge personality. Kind of a 60's rebel vibe. And a redhead. Go figure.

"So to what do I owe the pleasure, Damsel?"

"Came to see the bitch that made Nines lose his goddamn mind."

That made Rosalynn smile. "I see. He lost his mind?"

"I'd put that smile away, Prince Bitch. You mess with Nines and you mess with us."

"Well that wasn't my intention."

Rosalynn already knew how to press her buttons. Hotheads like Damsel don't respond well to Camarilla diplomacy... or diplomacy in general. And she reacted predictably.

Damsel's expression soured. "You really oughta come down off that pedestal if you know what's good for you."

"You still haven't told me the real reason you're here, Darcy."

"It's Damsel!"

"l don't care, truly."

Taking a seat at the desk, Rosalynn watched as Damsel stewed angrily on her spot, unable to do anything. For the first time in nearly a week, she had some measure of control.

"I'll ask you again: why are you here?"

"Oh man. Lady, you got some brass balls, I'll give you that."

"You have a funny way of dodging questions"

"I wanna know what the fuck you're doing in my city!"

Damsel started towards her but checked herself rather quickly when Rosalynn stood. It'd do her no good to disobey Nines' direct orders to not harm a hair on Rosalynn's head. Technically she was already breaking his rule to not even go near the bedroom. Still, Damsel felt they had a right to some answers.

Rosalynn glared hard. "I owe you no explanation."

"Oh, so you failed to keep control of New York so now you're tryin' in LA? No goddamn way!"

"Good lord, do you hear yourself? I have no care nor want for your precious LA!"

"Then why? It just seems a little fucking coincidental that we burn LaCroix and then all of a sudden you show up!"

"Wow you're paranoid. Just calm down. I'm not exactly a threat to you here."

Damsel barely sequestered her anger beneath her skin. She wanted nothing more than to skin this bitch, but there was something else about her. The way she talked. Her battle scars. She sure as hell didn't look like or sound like she come from the boardroom. And, at the end of it, she had a point.

"Ugh! Fine. But just remember you can't leave here except through our good graces. So play nice."

''l will if you will."

Against every inclination she had, Damsel retreated to a safe distance where she could not lose it and break the pretty Ventrue's neck.

"I can't believe you're Nines' wife." She stated.

Rosalynn looked at her strangely. The girl doesn't mince words.

"l was. Past tense. Not anymore."

"Yeah, that's no coincidence at all." Damsel rolled her eyes. "You seriously expect me to believe you just magically appear in the exact same domain as Nines."

"Look, believe whatever you want. I'm the Prince of New York City; I could not care less what you think of me. l didn't even know Nines was like this..."

"Bullshit!"

And around and around they go. Sighing dramatically, Rosalynn aimed at keeping her composure.

"Sweetheart, exactly what has Nines told you about his past?"

For once, Damsel had no fiery comeback.

"Not a lot," she huffed, sullenly. "He doesn't exactly open up. I guess now we know why."

"Well... let me enlighten you, Damsel. Nines and l were married ten years before one day, thanks to that monolithic ego of his, he walked out."

That revelation made Damsel's jaw unhinge. Rosalynn would've gladly basked in her surprise, had she not been as agitated as she was now. Dragging up her fragile history was not she had in mind. Even worse was giving this insignificant kindred an undue explanation.

Rosalyn flicked her a stern look. "Nines left his family to fight the war against the Depression. He disappeared, and never came back. So no, Damsel, I didn't fucking know he was here!"

Shit. That escalated quickly. Her voice had edged on manic, thickened by a steady rise in emotion. Glancing across the room, it seemed Damsel heard it too. Rosalyn cursed softly.

"Goddamn it," she muttered. "Anyway. For seventy years, l thought he was dead. Turns out l was right, in a way."

Damsel didn't buy it, and it bothered her in more ways than one.

"You're a fucking joke," She declared, crossing her arms defiantly. "There's no way Nines would've hooked up with the likes of you Ventrue scum!"

"Think whatever you like, little girl." Rosalynn sneered as she approached her. "But it is what it is. Like it or not, your oh so esteemed leader comes with a lot of baggage. And as much as I love seeing him unravel, honey, I got a lot bigger issues to deal with."

It was a calculated risk when she came within arms' reach of the hot-headed Brujah. But then again, calculated risks were her game. And quite correctly, she supposed this girl was on an invisible leash; roped into a senseless devotion of Nines to the point where his instructions not to harm Rosalynn carried a great deal of consequence for young Damsel.

That is why Rosalynn was able to look at her with clear authority.

"I am nothing if not a pragmatist, Damsel. The only reason I still stand here now is because I haven't fed well in quite some time. But make no mistake... if you, Nines, or any other of your little chest-beating thugs want to start a war with me, be assured I will bring the _full _weight of Camarilla authority down on you all. Trust me, sweetheart, you _don't _want that."

For a brief moment she thought she saw hesitation cross Damsel's eyes, but it was quickly usurped by the trademark Brujah stubbornness.

Finally, the fiery Anarch seemed to overcome her momentary loss of words.

"It's only for Nines' sake that I haven't already torn your trachea outta your throat and used it to beat that goddamn, condescending, pathetic Camarilla shit-for-brains of yours." Damsel gritted out, and then turned and stormed out.

The door slammed shut with such anger that it didn't take a well-fed vampire to see the top door hinge break free...


	14. Chapter 14

**Rekindled Humanity Chapter 14**

**Author's Notes:** It has been a long time since I have been inspired to write, but after recently getting back into playing VTMB, I found my creativity again. Hopefully it is to your liking!

This chapter contains some very big revelations...

* * *

"I am truly disappointed in you, Lucas."

Lucas' gaze dropped to his clasped hands that sat neatly on the table, as he took the verbal punishment he knew he deserved. After all, he lost all control of his purpose - the one charged to him on the trust that he, the most loyal of Camarilla servants second only to perhaps Rosalynn herself, would not fail. And yet here they were.

Across the ivory table that sat as the centrepiece to the fire lit dining hall of the Upper East Side penthouse, his inquisitor held him a steadfast gaze. It was to Lucas' great surprise that Marius' eyes held no malice; no thirst for revenge or even to send the younger kindred to final death.

Marius took the silent moment to appraise his childe's lieutenant. It took him nights to track down his childe's last movements, with Lucas, to the hotel. To his surprise, he only found Lucas there, frantically on the phone to who he assumed to be the Nosferatu Primogen of New York, if the tech-savvy conversation and occasion accusations of being a "sewer rat" were anything to go by. Lucas barely had a moment to register his shock that realising he wasn't alone, when Marius lunged forward with the stake and ploughed it into Lucas' heart. From there on out, the move to Marius' haven was thankfully dull.

Watching his friend now, Marius felt saddened. Lucas knew his failures for what they were, and felt the guilt of them as cleanly as if a sword had been run through his dead heart. That didn't excuse his actions, or rather inactions, though. For that reason, he took Lucas to task the second his attendants roused him out of his stake-induced paralysis.

Marius rose from the table, suddenly feeling restless. "I trusted you to look after her. To protect her. I _warned_ you these nights were dangerous, and to be prepared. When she wouldn't listen, I expected that _you _would."

Lucas lifted his head a little, allowing Marius to glimpse the guilt as he circled past him.

"I know I failed, Marius. Believe me, I know it. She slipped past me as I slept, and-"

A thunderous clap boomed off the walls and shook the foundations of the room, silencing Lucas that very instant. This time, Marius' eyes glowed red.

"Unacceptable! Lucas, you are the only one I ever thought of entrusting her unlife to, and now I find you bargaining with the Sewer Scum because you have lost track of Rosalynn on the eve of the Camarilla losing all control of New York City?"

Lucas recovered enough dignity to turn his own damning glare on Marius. Though he was not afraid of Marius, he respected him enough to let the older kindred vent his anger - after all, it was well placed.

"You don't think I'm aware of my failure, Marius? That I don't know I should've done more? Jesus Christ..."

"The city is destroyed, Lucas! And you have lost my childe! For that alone I should put you down like a mangy dog!"

"Comparing me to a goddamn Gangrel now? And I thought you brought me here for a rational conversation."

The two men faced off from opposite sides of the table. Not that it would be much of a barrier should either one lose their temper further. It had been years since they faced each other, and even so this was the first time with such bellicosity. Yet Rosalynn stirred the deepest passions in both men, and for her they would take each other's blood.

The simmering rage faded from Marius' face, and he gathered his wits, much to his friend's relief. "What happened to her, Lucas? You were charged with ensuring her safety."

"I did what I could, but you know your childe. I could stop her no more than you! But she isn't lost, I know where she is."

_That_ revelation snatched the anger cleanly out of Marius, and immediately he came around the table.

"What did you say?"

"You heard me. She isn't lost. Rosalynn had me make travel arrangements for her to visit Maximillian Strauss, of the Los Angeles domain."

If it were any more possible for Marius to turn pale, this was it. The news hit him hard enough to make him slip into the seat behind him. He hadn't even realised it was there. Running a hand over his mouth, Marius emerged out of the dread that had suddenly paralysed him.

"Los Angeles?" He turned panicked eyes onto Lucas. "She's in Los Angeles?"

Lucas nodded slowly, unsure of what to make of Marius reaction. Something told him whatever had pulled Rosalynn to the West Coast was nothing good - particularly if that something had Marius afraid.

Lucas reached across the table to the file that Marius and had stolen from his belongings, presumably while he was out cold from the stake. He slid the unopened file across to him, as he returned to his own seat.

"See for yourself," he said and opened the file for him. "I made all of her travel arrangements. I found it odd. I don't know why she specified LA; I just did what I was told. I meant to follow her, after she instructed me to remain behind, but she bypassed me while I slept. You seem to know the score, Marius. Why do you look so afraid that she went to LA? No one knows her there."

All the while Marius stared at the papers, but didn't read them. Instead he was a few thousand miles away, dreading what fate awaited his beloved childe in the one city he had hoped she'd never find cause to visit. The fear and disbelief, unwashed on his face, made him almost forget Lucas was in the room - until Lucas said his name again.

"Did she say anything to you at all about why she was going?" A stupid question. Of course she wouldn't.

Lucas confirmed what he already knew when he shook his head. "Only that she wanted to find the fledgling responsible for LaCroix's destruction. She told me before we fled New York that she hadn't seen anything like it before. She sounds almost envious. She did speculate what it would be like to have a talent like that serving with us in New York. I figured that's why she wanted to go, and she said as much. Do you know of any other reason she would go?"

After a few panic-stricken seconds of combing his memories, Marius shook his head. He never felt more confused than now.

"Nothing I know of would suggest anything." _Except perhaps her undead husband._ "Goddamn it, Lucas. New York needs its Prince! Why wasn't I called before you and Rosalynn took this little trip?"

"You saw how quick it all went down! We barely got out of the building with our hides. Besides, Rosalynn specifically told me not to tell anyone. She still needs to believe I'm her Lieutenant not her Guardian, Marius. I can't blow my cover with her, damn it. And you seem to forget, I love her too. I would die for her. She was going to do this with or without me! At least we know where she is and who she has gone to see..."

"Are you sure about that?"

Marius stood, feeling restless. No matter how he reasoned it, he still couldn't shake the possibility that she had discovered the truth of her embrace. But it couldn't be possible, surely. Rosalynn, to these very nights, wore the burden in her eyes. The burden of guilt. The burden of the need for revenge. Surely if she knew the truth of her husband, she would have had a much different conversation with him the last time they spoke recently.

But the possibility was there.

"Marius... My brother, what are you not telling me?" Lucas stood and cut off Marius' path, forcing the older kindred to confront him.

Marius stared at him for a long while, and then shook his head. "I am sorry, Lucas. But I have higher duties to-"

"No, no!" Lucas silenced his friend with a stern wave, "Marius, if Rosalynn is in danger for a reason, you need to tell me! We have kept secrets from each other in the past to protect her, my friend, but never ones that will cause her ill. You must tell me, if we are to protect her. That is all I care about, and I know you do to."

Marius turned away, closing his eyes as he remembered those nights - ones of deception and violence. He wished it was as simple as Lucas said. That it was all about protecting Rosalynn. For him, that was justification enough. He loved Rosalynn like a daughter the moment he laid eyes on her and tasted her energy in the air. But there were other reasons - reasons that Lucas might be less forgiving for.

He knew what he had to do. But that didn't make it easy.

Marius hung his head in defeat and sighed. "My friend... Do you remember the night before I embraced her? The night I asked you to be her guardian?"

Lucas frowned. "As clearly as if it happened last night. Why?"

"You asked me that night... 'Why her?'. Why did I choose Rosalynn out of all the housewives of all the suburbs of New Jersey? You asked me what was special about her."

"I remember. You told me it was her beauty. Her innocence."

"It wasn't a lie. Those were some of the reasons. But not all. I knew who Rosalynn was before laid eyes on her. I actually knew her name, but not her face."

"What are you talking about?"

"Two years before I embraced Rosalynn, there were rumblings in New York. Rumblings from the Anarchs. They had lost their leader the year before, and were in disarray ever since. But rumours spread of an Upstart. No one really knew his face, and certainly not his name. But... There was energy among the Anarchs. Enough to give them confidence to make runs at the different boroughs. They were all put down, of course. But this new kindred, this new... Anarch... boasted all the ego and charisma they needed. Camarilla hold on New York at the time was still new. Anyway..."

Marius paused and glanced at his friend. Lucas was hanging on his every word like a child on a bedtime story. In his eyes, there was dread. He knew that no happy ending was going to come from this particular story. The silence begged Marius to go on.

"With our control over New York still in its infancy, the Camarilla elders didn't want to take any chances. They instructed me to find this Upstart before any more havoc was created."

"Why you?" Lucas asked, his wonderment deepening.

"I was the Ventrue Primogen. I knew diplomacy better than any of the other Primogen. They didn't think they could reason with the Anarchs, but they thought I could give them a reason for others to not join them. Stem the bleeding of New York, so to speak. That became my purpose."

"I don't understand. What has this anything to do with Rosalynn or me being her guardian? You asked me to protect her because the Elders foresaw her importance. You never said why."

"Well I'm telling you why now." Marius needed a distraction from the powerful emotions swimming through him. He chose not to rehash that time in their history for good reason, but now there was no escaping it.

He retreated to the bar fridge in there corner of the room and retrieved two blood packs. After offering one to Lucas, who accepted it, both men took the reprieve for what it was worth.

"Lucas... When she disappeared... You did research. What did you find out about her life as a mortal?"

"A bit. She never spoke much of it to me. I never pushed the matter because I saw how much it pained her. But I spoke to her a couple of nights ago-"

"You spoke to her?"

"Yes."

"Don't you think you should've mentioned that earlier?"

"It wouldn't make any difference, Marius. Anyway, we spoke. She sounded tired. She asked me to look into the name of Nines Rodriguez. I wanted to know if it was any relation to her, but she said it was a conversation best left to a safer night."

Remembering that conversation well, Lucas silently berated himself for not pressing the matter further with Rosalynn when they spoke. If his obedience ends up costing his closest friend her unlife, he would never forgive himself. His oath to protect her would be broken, and with it his purpose.

Noticing his friend's conflict, Marius approached him and clamped a hand to his shoulder. "Don't blame yourself. You had no way of knowing its importance at the time."

"Then _you _tell me." Lucas shook Marius' hand from his shoulder, and levelled him with an accusing glare. "Tell me it all. Rosalynn is in trouble. The look on your face when I told you where she was just confirms it. Tell me, who the hell is this Nines Rodriguez? What does he have to do with Rosalynn? I mean, I know he is a high-ranking Anarch but not much else…"

Marius retreated a little, stealing a little more time to shoulder the weight of what he was about to confess. He rubbed a hand over his dead heart. Rosalynn was worth every speck of pride he possessed.

"Nines Rodriguez was Rosalynn's husband."

The statement had the bombshell effect he meant it to. One look to his side, and he caught sight of Lucas' jaw unhinging and his eyes nearly falling out of his skull.

"Excuse me?" Lucas spat.

"Nines Rodriguez, also known as Michael Rodriguez, came from New Jersey. A regular 'Joe'. Construction worker. Typical of the period. Married Rosalynn in the early twenties. They had a child. She was about six or seven when he disappeared in 1933. He was embraced around that time."

It was a heavy dose of reality that smacked Lucas across the face. He didn't know Rosalynn as much as he always believed he did. He looked across to Marius in disbelief.

"Why would she keep that a secret from me? Why would _you_?"

Marius smiled sadly. The reasons for keeping Lucas out of the loop were many. His ignorance to the truth only solidified his loyalty to Rosalynn, and that's how her Sire wanted it to stay.

"There's more to it, my friend. Their child, the little girl, she also disappeared. Three years after Nines did, in fact."

"That's tragic. It still doesn't explain-"

"Lucas, there is much more that you will need to know," Marius calmly interjected. "You were kept in the dark on these matters for a reason. Your duty to Rosalynn needed to remain pure, and we could not risk that she ever find out what became of her husband."

"I don't understand."

"_Think_ about it, Luc."

That being all he needed to say, Marius watched Rosalynn's ever-loyal lieutenant pace like a madman; his eyes searching the ground as if somehow the answers were buried under the floorboards. Gradually, the pacing slowed. Then, he stopped abruptly and looked at Marius, alarmed.

"No! It can't be true."

A small smile graced Marius' lips. "I wish that were so, believe me. Mister Rodriguez quickly ascended the Anarch ranks. The Elders were more than concerned, to say the least. Never before had the Anarch movement become such a threat to New York. Slowly, whispers of him were moving westward. His combat skills, even as a fledgling, were exceptional. But it was his ability to inspire the rabble that most worried the Camarilla Elders. I never saw him in combat myself, nor witnessed his leadership skills in action, but the reports I received painted a grim picture for us."

"Like the Los Angeles fledgling..."

"I was thinking the same thing myself, since first learning about the troubles in LA."

Never in his wildest imagination could Lucas have figured this out on his own. Finally, questions came to the surface and usurped his wonderment.

"So you're telling me Rosalynn was chosen by the elders to lead the Camarilla in New York? Just because of her husband? I... I don't get it. I have never even heard of Nines Rodriguez until I few nights ago when I spoke with her!"

"You wouldn't have. Three years after his embrace, New York was in a state of chaos. But in the end, the tragic circumstances of his embrace was too much for him to bear. He left New York, and the east coast, for Los Angeles and hasn't returned since. Nevertheless, the Elders didn't want to take a chance on his return. Someone as strong as Mister Rodriguez could bring with him a war we didn't need back then. The Elders believed if they could not break his body, then if he returned, they would break what was left of his humanity."

Again, Lucas needed a minute to figure it out. "Rosalynn?"

"That is correct. To this very night she still hasn't spoken of him, even to me. I don't know the full story behind their time together. But I do know that he is the cause of her melancholy for all these years. And the Elders knew that she was his."

"How?"

"I'm not sure. But the story does not end there."

"Of course it doesn't." Lucas couldn't hide his bitterness.

He was barely able to follow this twisted tale as it was, let alone believe it. By Marius' every word, he got the impression that Rosalynn was a pawn for higher schemes, and that alone was an insult. Rosalynn proved her worth as their leader over thousands of nights, and he would never think otherwise. Looking across the room at his friend, Lucas wasn't even sure if he wanted to know any more of his insight.

Marius seemed to realise it as well. "Keep with me, Lucas. Fate had designed a path for their child, as well."

"How?"

Reaching into his satchel, Marius retrieved a photo and showed it to him. The image was faded, and quite old from what he could tell. A little girl, no more than six years old, wore a white dress and her hair tied in pigtails with ribbons. The essence of innocence. Lucas stared sadly at the picture. She looked a lot like a very young Rosalynn. Whatever happened to her could not have been pleasant.

"What happened to her?" He whispered, brushing a thumb over the child's happy image.

"I can't say for certain. What is known is that Hunter activity in New York increased at the same time the Anarchs started their uprisings. By the time I was ready to find Rosalynn, and embrace her, I learned that she and the child had travelled to Los Angeles. Presumably for a break from their own turmoil. I followed them there."

"How did you find her?"

"It was one of the few times in my unlife I stooped so low as to ask the Nosferatu for assistance with that task."

Taking the picture back, Marius returned to his seat. Running a hand over his face, he felt his immortality crawl through him like slime. Some nights more than others, immortality was a burden he wished he never had.

"The first time I laid eyes on her, she and her daughter were leaving a hotel. They weren't alone."

"Rodriguez had found them?"

"No. They were with a human. I didn't see much of him. I lost track of them when I was followed by an Anarch. But I knew when they were going back east, so I followed them again. When I got back to my haven in New York, there was a telegram from my Nosferatu contact. He was able to tell me the identity of the human. It was Jebidiah Dumont, under the alias of Matthew Orion."

Lucas eyes became saucers. Even he knew who that was, in legend at least. Every east coast kindred knew the Dumont name, particularly those that had witnessed the brutal violence of that family first-hand. The Dumonts... the most powerful vampire hunting family in north-east America. Not a name any of them took lightly, and not a name he ever expected Rosalynn to be associated with.

"How the hell did Dumont know about Rosalynn? Why would he involve himself with her? That can't be a coincidence..."

"Of course it's not. Dumont knew Rosalynn because they had the same information as _me_!" Marius fumed. "Rodriguez was too well protected by that time; no one could get to him. I imagine this didn't escape the hunters' attention either. I imagine they, like us, wanted to find his weakness."

"So let me guess... he became the new man in Rosalynn's life?"

Marius nodded. "Yes. About maybe six months before the child disappeared."

"So why the hell didn't you stop him taking the girl?"

"I couldn't! Otherwise I never would have got close enough to Rosalynn. With the child either dead or missing, she was at her lowest. It sounds cruel, Lucas, but there was no other way."

Processing all the details was going to take longer than one night. Hell, his head hurt just thinking about the whole mess. Rosalynn was a pawn in a sick game, created by the Elders.

"So let me get this all lined up..." Lucas sat across from him, hoping to hell Marius wasn't about to bullshit him. "You're saying that Rosalynn's husband was embraced and became an Anarch leader no one could get to, so in order to protect the Camarilla, the Elders decided that if he was to come back, they'd break his humanity. So they sent you to embrace her and make her into a leader, all the while the Hunters were looking to do the same thing except they wanted the kid... how does that sound?"

"About right, so far." Marius glumly confirmed. The way Lucas put it, the whole situation sound beyond ridiculous - and he saw that same scepticism, now, in his friend. "Look, I understand how mad it all seems. And truthfully, I cannot fathom that Rodriguez is the entire reason the Elders wanted Rosalynn, or that the child served the same purpose for the Dumonts. In the end, none of that mattered. When I saw her that first time, in LA, I knew she was my childe. I _knew _she was made for this world. I knew she could lead the Camarilla to greatness. She was different, Luc. You knew that the first time you met her. Her heart beat to a different rhythm than all other kine."

He stopped and pinned his friend with a determined gaze, holding steadfast to the truth behind it all. Rosalynn was his childe, and he never would have embraced her had he not loved her with his entire being from the moment he laid eyes on her.

"Tell me I'm wrong," He challenged Luc, who had remained silent until then. "Tell me you didn't notice her too. Tell me I'm mad."

Lucas fiddled with the loose papers scattered atop the table, calculating his response with great care.

"You are mad, Marius. Absolutely batshit, in fact." He finally answered. "But I knew it, too. You know I wouldn't have agreed to be her guardian otherwise."

That was true. Lucas, Marius' oldest and dearest friend, never sired a childe for good reason. Siring a childe meant taking on the responsibility of damning an innocent soul to eternal darkness; not an endeavour to be taken lightly. It was one of the reasons why the Camarilla forbade embracing without permission. To be a guardian required no less devotion; his purpose to guide the fledgling without bearing the degree of responsibility faced by a Sire. With the newly embraced fledgling still in the realms of transformation, and only then, could a kindred became a guardian. Taking in even a drop of Rosalynn's dying blood, newly spoiled by vampirism, sealed his fate to hers.

A glance at the clock told them both that time was up. 4:43am. Soon the sun would be rising, and neither had slept in a good while.

"So what happens now?" Lucas wondered, as both men retrieved their belongings.

"We get our girl back. We need to get to Los Angeles and find her before Rodriguez does."

"You think he will hurt her?"

Both men made their way to the door, eager to gain some much-needed rest before their next journey began. Lucas opened the door, but before he could leave Marius stepped in front of him.

"No," he answered sadly. "He will do much worse. He will make her fall in love with him all over again."

* * *

**Author's Note: **A very full-on chapter! It seems Rosalynn has suffered more than one man betraying her, in her life and death.


End file.
